


Come My Love Again

by softfonds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Childhood Friends, Emma AU, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Matchmaking, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Morons in love, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 110,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27343708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softfonds/pseuds/softfonds
Summary: Harry Styles is handsome, clever, and rich. At least that’s what his friends say of him. He also thinks of himself as a matchmaker in Highbury, pairing people together when he finds the time. But when the arrival of a certain gentleman flips Harry’s world on its head, he starts to question everything that was once all too familiar to him, including his relationship with his good friend, Mr. Tomlinson. An Emma AU.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Sarah Jones/Mitch Rowland, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 52
Kudos: 202





	1. Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> Well this is finally DONE. After watching Autumn De Wilde's fantastic adaption of Emma, it finally gave me the push to write an Emma based fic that others had suggested in the past. So I hope fans of Austen and people not familiar with her work enjoy this fic!
> 
> As usual, I own none of this. All the inspiration comes from Jane Austen herself and all the wonderful directors who have adapted her work over the years mixed in with some gayness I added. And special thanks to my lovely friends who cheered me on and betaed this fic! Title comes from Johnny Flynn's song for Emma (2020): "Queen Bee".

Harry Styles was clever, handsome, and rich. With beautiful russet curls that reached just past his shoulders and kind green eyes, it was no wonder he was regarded as one of most beautiful carriers in the county of Surrey, and definitely the loveliest in Highbury, a town sixteen miles away from London where he resided since his birth. And it was a truth universally acknowledged that if someone was that beautiful and young, they would be in want of a husband.

But not Harry. When he turned eighteen, he declared he would never marry, and now at twenty one, he planned to keep it that way. Why would he leave his comfortable home that he had run since his eldest brother’s marriage? No. Marriage was simply not in the cards for him. That didn’t stop him from marrying off others in Highbury, though. He had paired many successful matches throughout the years, and it always brought him great joy to do so. Besides, it was not the time to think about a marriage for his own. Because today there was a wedding – where he matched the couple yet again - and he was most eager to attend the celebration of his labors.

“Come along, Bartholomew,” Harry called out as he walked to the greenhouse, basket on his arm, wrapping his cream colored shawl tightly around his shoulders as the cool morning air caressed his face. “How are you this morning?”

The servant quietly yawned before answering, carrying a lantern in his hand. “Most well, sir. Thank you for asking.”

The sun was just beginning to rise in the distance, the ethereal glow of the dimmed blue sky illuminating the foggy landscape. Since it was so early and he didn’t want to bother his entire staff, he only asked one of his manservants to accompany him to the gardens, walking along together as they stepped through the dew topped field, birds chirping in the distance from the tall trees. Once they reached the hot house, Bartholomew carefully opened the door as Harry stepped in, breathing in the fresh, blended aromas of the flowers they kept. He walked along the rows, meticulously looking at the flowers as he paused to inspect them.

Zayn had started this little sanctuary years ago, but after he left Harry was left in charge of caring for it, and he took immense pleasure doing so. Picking up the watering tin, he drenched a few of the flowers as he went along the rows while the servant stood in the corner holding the lantern.

“Do you think these rosy peonies would match well with lilies, Bartholomew?” Harry asked aloud, caressing the soaked petals with his fingertip.

The servant looked over at him with a careful brow. “I think the blue delphinium would match better with the peonies, sir.”

“Oh you are right!” Harry walked over and carefully snipped the matching flowers, tying their stems with a white ribbon he brought once he finished. “I think they look nice, yes?” he asked as he held them up to the light.

“Splendid taste, sir,” Bartholomew answered.

Harry nodded as he carefully placed the bouquet in his basket, taking it back to the house as Bartholomew followed behind. Most of the household was up by now, tending to their chores around Hartfield, a chorus of “Good morning, Mr. Styles” going around in greeting as he walked along the halls.

“Good morning, all!” he said brightly, wanting to stop to chat with a few servants but not having the time. In less than three hours, his beloved friend would no longer be Miss Sarah Jones, governess of Hartfield, but Mrs. Sarah Rowland, mistress of Randalls. He had to preserve every precious minute he had until then.

Eventually he reached the stairs that led to Sarah’s hallway, climbing up as he looked out the windows, stopping to admire the delicate morning on their estate. The sun was up now, fully brightening the fields across their land. The house was basked in the warm sunshine that entered through the large windows, with a light frost lining the glass. Even though it was only October, the chill air was already setting in, and winter would soon be upon them.

“Good morning, Mr. Styles,” came a servant as he reached the top, Harry smiling as he saw who it was.

“Good morning, Charles,” he greeted. “Bartholomew is in the kitchen if you need him.”

Harry stayed long enough to see him blush, walking past him with a smile. While it wasn’t his place to ask, he knew those two particular servants shared a closer bond than the other workers around the house; whether it was more than a friendship he did not know. But he did know one was always looking for the other, always inseparable, so he might as well save him the trouble this morning. He continued his trek up the stairs, humming to himself as he did.

Once he was standing in front of Sarah’s door, he gathered the flowers in his hands and took a deep inhale. Everything was changing, whether he liked it or not. Sarah was going to leave him, and then it will only be Grandpapa and him living at Hartfield. Harry thought it was bad enough when Zayn moved to London with his husband, but now losing his companion… well, that made it clear how alone he was going to be.

He shook his head as he felt the tears rise up, quickly wiping them before raising his hand to knock the special pattern they developed over the years: two quick knocks followed by three slow ones. He heard a rustling behind the door as he let his knuckles graze the woodgrain, his other hand holding the bouquet behind his back.

“Harry?” he heard her whisper through the door.

“What am I going to do without you, Sarah?” he sniffled. Ms. Jones had come on as a governess to him and Zayn when they were younger, with Harry probably being five when she arrived to live there. Being orphaned, their grandfather thought it best that a carrier was also there to raise them alongside himself, and Harry could not have been more thankful for her presence for the past seventeen years. And once Zayn married, Sarah became more of a companion than a real governess for Harry. Instead of having a teacher in his life, she served as more of an older sister that he never had, spending the days together as if they were siblings, the one carrier he could look up to in his life. “More than a governess, you have been a dear friend all these years.”

“I’ll only be half a mile away, Harry,” she replied softly, opening the door. “And our doors shall always be welcome to you.”

She was already dressed for her wedding, in a cream lace gown, her bonnet with the veil sitting on the neatly done bed. Her trunks of clothing were already packed, sitting next to the empty dressers. Harry noticed how her picture frames and trinkets were all gone from the shelves and window sills, like she was taking every trace of her with her to Randalls, the peach walls stripped of all personality as she did. His eyes finally landed on her, with her soft eyes wet as well, smiling at him while Harry sniffled as he handed her the flowers.

“Oh Harry!” she cried. “They are so lovely!”

“Only the best for your wedding day, Ms. Jones. But you know it won’t be the same,” Harry quavered. “Even if you are half a mile away.”

“May I remind you that you were the one who encouraged Mr. Rowland to court me,” she said with a pointed yet kind stare as she brought the flowers to her face, “and it was your explicit wish that we marry.”

Well, so _what_ if it had been his doing after all. “Yes,” Harry huffed. “But only because I wanted you to have a chance of having a family instead of spending the rest of your years at Hartfield! You deserve a home of your own, Sarah,” he sighed. “That doesn’t mean I won’t miss you.”

“I know,” she whispered as she pulled him in for a hug. “I had no family of my own when I came to Hartfield all those years ago, but being here let me gain you, your grandfather, and your brother. And I’ll always treasure the years we had together, Harry. No matter what happens, you shall always be my family.”

Harry squeezed her back, inhaling the comforting scent of peonies she liked to wear. “I know,” he said as a tear rolled down his cheek, but he quickly composed himself and pulled away. “Now no more sadness. It’s your wedding day and we must be happy! Grandpapa is sending you first on our carriage and we shall follow behind in another.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, laughing wetly as she wiped her eyes. “I shall never forget the kindness your family has showed me during my years here.”

“And the best way you can show that gratitude is by leaving to live your own life, Ms. Jones,” he said with a sad smile. The dichotomy of wanting Sarah’s happiness while still wanting her to stay at Hartfield was too much for his heart, but he had to persevere.

They gave each other one more quick hug before Harry walked back to his own rooms. It wouldn’t be long before they would be needed at the church, and he had to get ready.

✺

“Are you sure you won’t feel bad about missing Sarah’s wedding?” Zayn asked as he passed his husband a cup of tea. “I would’ve liked to go had Liam not needed to stay today and our trip to South End tomorrow. You were free to leave yesterday if you really wanted to be there.”

“Thank you, love,” Mr. Payne smiled before going back to his papers.

“Yet I am happy here,” Mr. Tomlinson chuckled as he cooed over the baby in his arms, another child recently added to his list of nieces and nephews. “I was due to pay a visit here and I shall give Mr. and Mrs. Rowland my compliments once I go home. As close of a friend I consider Miss Jones to be, my own family is always more important.”

“Good to know we’re always in your thoughts, brother,” Liam chuckled as he wrote.

“And now Harry will be left alone at Hartfield with Grandpapa,” Zayn sighed as he stood by the window, gazing out onto the busy street below. “I hope he doesn’t get into too much trouble all by himself. I know he doesn’t like being alone.”

“Shouldn’t he be married by now?” Liam quipped. “Then he wouldn’t be alone. You already had two of our children by his age.”

“If Harry wanted children, that would require him to marry,” Zayn giggled. “And I can’t imagine any man telling Harry what to do. I remember him wanting to marry when we were young, but I believe he became disenchanted of the idea as we grew older and put his efforts into marrying other people. If he does decide to marry, it will have to be with a man he truly loves and is willing to submit his heart to. And I do not believe he has met such a person yet.”

“I see,” Liam nodded. “But I think he would do best with a husband, in the future at least. Then you wouldn’t worry about him, my love.”

“I think I’ll always worry about Harry no matter his age,” Zayn chuckled as he went to sit by the window. “What do you think, Louis? You spend more time with my brother than I do these days.”

Louis smiled to himself. He had known Harry and Zayn all his life, ever since their grandfather brought them to Donwell Abbey when they were children to make a proper introduction. His parents had told him Mr. Warwick’s daughter had passed, and she had left behind her two boys in her father’s care. And when Louis met them, he made instant friends, especially with Harry. Being the youngest, he was more spoiled than the rest, everyone giving into his whims when they were together. And even though he considered Zayn a friend, Mr. Malik clearly preferred Louis’ stepbrother, Liam Payne, to any other man in the county. Whenever they would visit Hartfield, Zayn was always glued to Liam’s side, and Louis was fine to be left with Harry and whatever antics he got himself involved in. Louis just didn’t expect their brothers would end up marrying like they did – even though the signs were always there - but he was happily surprised when they announced their engagement on a summer’s eve. And their union gave him nieces and nephews to spoil for years to come, and that was something he would always be thankful for.

After their brothers left for London, Louis found himself spending more time at Hartfield, visiting Harry and his grandfather almost daily. He preferred to walk the one mile there, giving him an exercise that did well to his constitution, even though Harry chided him for not arriving in a carriage, or the very least horseback. And despite how ridiculous Harry would get – which could be often – Louis still considered him a close friend in every sense, enjoying their talks about books that Harry had skimmed and Louis had read thoroughly, or listening to the newest gossip Harry had heard and would relate back to him. Louis often attended the gentlemen parties that were held around Hartfield, but he secretly looked forward to the evenings he would spend at Hartfield instead. And he knew that was mostly due to Harry’s long-lasting friendship.

“I would have to agree with your sentiments,” Mr. Tomlinson answered. “Harry will need to genuinely love before he marries, and even if he says he never would, we know that’s poppycock. The man lives on romantic poetry and ideals of marriage; I doubt he does not want that for himself after all these years.”

“Then is he just waiting for the right man?” Liam mused.

“Possibly,” Louis said. He wondered what man that would even be, since he couldn’t remember a time when Harry had a genuine fancy for someone. “I would like to see Harry in love. And in some doubt of a return, it would do him good.”

“I do not know why we are talking about Harry getting married,” Zayn smiled towards his brother-in-law, “when you are eight and twenty and have yet to find a carrier to marry. Why pick on poor Harry when you are much older than he?”

“Louis has time!” Liam said. “He could be six and thirty and have plenty of time to find a partner. Do not rush yourself, brother.”

Even though Liam was younger than him, it still brought a smile to Louis’ face to know he would always be ready to defend him, even if it usually went the other way around as they grew up.

“Or I shall not marry at all and leave Donwell to little James,” he smirked, kissing a squirming baby Henry on his forehead. “And not have children at all so that happens.” Like Harry, he had not thought of marriage for himself, not finding the ideal mate he wanted. And since society was not so varied in Highbury, it’s not as if he could meet anyone new to get to know and court ever so often. He was perfectly fine living as a bachelor for the rest of his life, even if he had looked forward to having children of his own someday. At least Zayn and Liam’s children were there to fill that void.

“Oh come now, Louis,” Zayn huffed. “You deserve to have a family as well. Just look at how you dote on our children! As wonderful as it would be for James to inherit, you shouldn’t give up on your own children when you can find a carrier to raise them with.”

Mr. Tomlinson sighed. “How about we stop talking about my love life,” he said with a pointed stare, “or Harry’s – for that matter – and instead, inform me about the gossip surrounding Mrs. Steven’s baby.”

“You mean that her child looks nothing like her husband?”

“Liam!” Zayn hissed.

“What?” Mr. Payne grumbled. “It’s not my fault the child is getting older and looking like their neighbor instead of her husband.”

Louis chuckled as the couple bickered about gossip for the remainder of the evening, happy to cradle Henry in his arms while he listened.

✺

“Poor Miss Jones,” Mr. Warwick said as he exited the carriage and looked up at the church. “I wish Mr. Rowland never laid eyes on her.”

“She deserves to be married as any carrier does, Grandpapa,” Harry said as he fixed the pin on the old man’s lapel, taking his arm to walk in together. Grandfather Warwick was a tall man for his old age, standing at about Harry’s height. He walked with his cane everywhere, not really needing it, but as a precaution for his knees, as he put it. His curled haired had gone white over the years, but never thinned out. Harry’s grandfather was very particular about health, which is why that was the first thing he complained about once Sarah announced her engagement: “Why would you move to a house that has so many drafts when you can just live here?” That argument didn’t sway Sarah, much to Harry’s amusement.

“Well not every carrier needs to marry,” the old man answered.

“May I remind you, Grandpapa,” Harry chided, “that you are very fond of Mr. Rowland, for he is a good and kind-hearted man. Miss Jones has chosen an excellent partner for the rest of her life.”

“I suppose,” Mr. Warwick sighed.

They entered the church, greeting everyone as they went inside. All the townsfolk offered good wishes, especially Miss Teasdale and her widowed mother, with much enthusiasm. The Teasdales once owned a large house in Highbury, but they had fell into ruin after Mr. Teasdale died, and now lived in an apartment in the village with only one servant. Miss Teasdale never married, so she spent the remainder of her days caring for her elderly mother, while telling the entire village about her nephew who was away. Even though Harry could not bear to hear her ramble at times, she was still considered a dear friend of Mr. Warwick, and would always be welcome at their home, no matter her circumstances.

Mr. Winston, the town vicar, was already standing at the end of the aisle, eyes closed, and head bowed in what seemed to be prayer. He was already a year at Highbury, and Harry found him quite enjoyable for the most part in the brief moments that they spoke beyond a greeting.

Mr. Rowland was standing at the altar as well, clearly taking some deep breaths as he smiled in Harry’s direction once they approached their seats. He always liked Mitch, who was quiet and kept to himself yet still a genuinely nice gentleman. A perfect match for Sarah, if he said so himself. So when he caught Mitch staring at her during a sermon two years ago, and when Mitch ran to get them umbrellas when they were caught in the rain during one of their outings, Harry knew they were meant to be. He would often invite Mr. Rowland over for tea so he could spend time with Miss Jones, seeing how Sarah would like him as well, and it was a match made in heaven once he finally proposed. Sarah had always been a soft spoken woman, which made her the perfect partner for the reserved Mr. Rowland. _Another match well made_ , Harry thought to himself.

“Hello, Mr. Warwick, Mr. Styles!” he heard behind, and smiled once he realized Mr. Corden was already in his seat across the aisle.

“Good day, Mr. Corden,” Mr. Warwick smiled as he looked behind him. “And Mrs. Corden. How are you this morning?”

“I’m very well,” the man beamed. “Thank you.”

“We are very well, Mr. Warwick,” Mrs. Corden smiled.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Corden,” Harry nodded before taking his usual seat across the aisle. He turned around to look at the door, questioning if a certain person would appear.

“What are you looking at, Harry?” his grandfather asked.

“Oh,” Harry said as he quickly turned back. “I just wondered if Nick Grimshaw would attend the wedding. I was so sure he would be here. It is his only brother’s wedding after all.”

“If he couldn’t be spared when Miss Gardner died, then I doubt that his aunt would spare him for this,” Mr. Warwick said solemnly.

Oh Miss Gardner. She had been Mr. Rowland’s fiancé a few years ago, but died of cholera one summer and left him utterly heartbroken. Mr. Grimshaw did not attend the funeral, but he was forgiven on account of his duty to his aunt. Mrs. Grimshaw always found herself ill, and never allowing her nephew to be spared a visit to Highbury. But Harry knew it would have been better for Mitch to have his brother to comfort him in his loss, instead of non-family members that lived in Highbury. At least Harry was able to witness Mitch fall in love again, and with his dear Sarah too. They were perfect for each other in every way, and as the music began signaling they all stand, Harry could not have been prouder as he watched her enter the church.

Sarah came walking down the aisle, a veil over one of her best dresses and bonnet, carrying the bouquet that Harry had made for her. The wedding was brief, with the exchange of vows that Harry had been present for many times already, but nonetheless beautiful to witness. He smiled to himself once they kissed to seal their marriage and tried not to cry as he realized Sarah was Miss Jones no more, but now Mrs. Rowland forever.

Later, the wedding party was held at Hartfield, where almost everyone of good fortune was present. The weather was nice enough for it to be held outside, so tents were brought out to cover the food as guests ate. Cake was served despite Mr. Warwick’s request to ban it, saying it was unhealthy for the children and the town doctor, Dr. Roberts, would agree with him as well. But he stopped his protests once he saw the doctor and his children happily eating cake that Harry had served them.

“You would not want to appear ungenerous, Grandpapa,” Harry warned as he brought over a plate of ginger biscuits.

“Ungenerous?” Mr. Warwick scoffed while a servant placed a cake in front of Harry. “Of course not!”

“Then do not worry about the cake!” Harry laughed. “Because I had Cook make me my own strawberry shortcake for this joyous occasion, and I do not plan to share it!” It was his favorite dessert to have, and he happily ate the dessert with its sweetened cream while his grandfather drank his tea and nibbled on the biscuits.

Once another guest came over to talk with Mr. Warwick and they had finished their desserts, Harry walked around once in a while to greet guests and make sure they were well, visiting the Rowlands often to make sure they were comfortable. There was no doubt they were happy, though, as they only took their eyes off each other when someone came up to congratulate them. Harry wished them every happiness as he eyed them while he took a tea cake from a tray. But having no one his own age around was quite a bore sometimes, so he made small talk with who he could.

“Mr. Styles?”

Harry turned to find Niall Horan bowing to him with a smile. Mr. Horan was the Irish nephew of wealthy merchants, Mr. and Mrs. Corden. He didn’t live in town all the time – splitting his time between London and Highbury– but he was usually present for special events like a wedding. And today was no different.

“Hello, Mr. Horan,” Harry smiled. “I did not know you were in town! What a pleasure to see you here.”

“I was actually in Bath for the past week on business,” Niall explained. “And while I missed the wedding, I’m glad I could be here for the celebration. Such a lovely party you decorated.”

“It’s a good thing you could make it then,” Harry laughed. “So you could pay me these compliments.”

“And I am happy to! But I see Mr. Tomlinson could not make it for this event,” Niall noted as he poured a glass of punch for himself. “Is he in Highbury?”

Harry smiled at the mention of his good friend. Louis Tomlinson was the owner of Donwell Abbey, a wealthy estate about a mile from Hartfield. He also had a younger stepbrother, Liam Payne. Their parents had died over ten years ago, so Louis quickly took the patriarchal role in the family. Liam ended up marrying Harry’s older brother, Zayn, and they raised their children together in London where Liam worked as a lawyer. Harry did miss them, but he knew they were happy how they were. And that’s where Louis was at the moment.

“No he is not,” Harry replied. “He went to visit our brothers in London and could not make it for the wedding. But we expect him no later than tomorrow evening.”

“I see,” Mr. Horan smiled. “And how are you planning to take Mrs. Rowland’s absence for Hartfield?”

“I don’t really know,” Harry said with a sigh. “I’ve been so worried with planning her wedding that I didn’t even think of what would happen after. I don’t mind being here with Grandpapa, though. It will just feel a little more empty without Miss Jones- well. Mrs. Rowland now.”

Mr. Horan nodded sympathetically. “You’ll always have a friend in Mr. Tomlinson, though?”

That was true at least. Even though he didn’t live at Hartfield, Mr. Tomlinson visited almost every day. “I-”

“Mr. Styles! Mr. Horan!”

They both turned to see an older woman approach them, her brown, faded dress swaying in the breeze.

“Miss Teasdale,” Harry said politely. “How lovely to see you.” As a poor unmarried carrier, there wasn’t much for her to do in Highbury besides be one of the town gossips. And that didn’t stop her from telling the town of her nephew, Timothée Chalamet. Which is what Harry assumed she was coming over for.

“Hello, Miss Teasdale,” Mr. Horan said. “I hope you’re enjoying the party.”

“Oh it was a lovely wedding,” she cried. “So lovely. So lovely. Weddings have all been in my mind lately! You know, Miss Foster is recently married!”

“Miss Foster?” Niall asked. “The daughter of the Colonel Foster?”

“Yes her! I meant Mrs. Baxter now, actually. Married Mr. Baxter not a fortnight ago! You know Timothée and her have always been close ever since he went away to be her companion.”

“How nice to hear,” Harry said. Timothée had been living with the Fosters since he was around four years old, and he has only returned to Highbury maybe three times at most. Harry really didn’t care for him – since he found him too shy and modest whenever Harry tried to make conversation with him as they grew up even though they were the same age - but he had to be polite to his grandfather’s old friends.

“You should tell her of my congratulations,” Mr. Horan said with a smile.

“And mine as well,” Harry replied.

“Why thank you!” she said. “I will be sure to write it in my next letter.”

“Have you told the news to my grandfather?” Harry asked cheerfully, hoping to get her talking to another person and leave them alone.

“I have not!” she gasped. “Do you think he would like to hear it? Oh I shall do so immediately. Goodbye, Mr. Harry, Mr. Horan!”

Harry watched her go in a hurry towards his grandfather’s table, which happened to be under one of the trees so he could stay out of the sun. Grandpapa didn’t trust the tents they had set up in keeping the sun away.

“I wonder what shall happen to Mr. Chalamet then,” Harry thought out loud.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Horan asked with a frown.

“Well,” he began. “Timothée was sent away to be Mrs. Baxter’s companion as they grew up. Now that she is married, she does not need a companion. What becomes of him then? I doubt the Fosters will still keep him around when their daughter is no longer living there.”

“Perhaps he shall marry as well,” Mr. Horan mused.

“Perhaps,” Harry said. He didn’t really care what Mr. Chalamet did in his life; he just hoped he didn’t have to hear about it for the rest of his.

“I shall keep you no longer, Mr. Styles,” Niall said with a head bow and smile. “I have to get back home to finish some business I have for tomorrow. I hope you have a lovely evening.”

“To you as well, Mr. Horan,” he nodded. “Thank you for coming.”

The gathering went on until it was time for Mitch and Sarah to retire to Randalls, Mr. Rowland’s home. The couple went around the crowd together, hugging and accepting small gifts as they said goodbye. It wasn’t until Sarah was finally standing in front of Harry that tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

“I hope you liked the party, Sarah,” Harry said as he hugged her, sniffling.

“Of course I did, love,” she said. “Now come visit me tomorrow as you promised.”

Harry sniffled as he pulled away, seeing the same tears in Sarah’s eyes. “I wish you all the happiness,” Harry whispered. He looked over her shoulder to see Mitch standing there, looking with so much in love with her as Sarah went to his side. Harry knew she was going from one loving home to another, but it didn’t hurt any less. “You take good care of her,” he said. “Or I will have the right mind to bring her back here myself.”

“Do not worry, Harry,” Mitch said as he kissed her hand. “I shall treat her like the queen she is.” And then he helped her up to her seat.

Harry stood next to his grandfather as he waved off the carriage with the rest of the guests, already taking their leave now that the newlyweds left.

“What a lovely party, Mr. Styles!” Miss Teasdale said as the final guests left, Mrs. Teasdale on her arm. “I don’t think we’ve been to a finer one in a while! Haven’t we mother? Well it’s time we head back to our home. Goodbye, Mr. Warwick! Mr. Styles!”

“Safe travels, Mrs. and Miss Teasdale!” Harry waved as they left as well. Soon all the guests finally left Hartfield, and after Harry made sure that his grandfather was happily chatting with Doctor Stevens by the fire in their sitting room, he decided to go upstairs.

The sun was setting now, and Harry decided to aimlessly walk through the halls of Hartfield before it got too dark. He walked past Sarah’s now empty room, sighing as he peeked inside. He still remembers the day she arrived, all cherry cheeked and kind once his grandfather introduced her as their new governess. She proved to be more like an older sister in every way, guiding both him and his brother as they grew, but Harry knew it was her time to start a family away from Hartfield. And Mitch was the perfect man to have that with, with his good-humored and pleasant nature. Harry just didn’t want for everything to change and remind him of how lonely he was in his own home. Without Sarah, he had no companion.

Harry walked along another hallway, seeing Zayn’s old room at the end of it. It had been a while since he had been inside – or really thought about it still being there – so he decided to enter it after years of servants keeping it clean on their own. The room looked just as Zayn had left it, with bed still holding one of his old quilts and a few old books lining his desk. He still remembered the day Zayn left, just like Sarah. The day of his wedding. The brothers had spent the week before packing Zayn’s things in trunks for him to take to London, reminiscing as they found old clothes or trinkets from their childhood.

When their parents died, they were both incredibly young and were left in the care of Mr. Warwick. Zayn was actually the child of their mother’s first marriage, but after Zayn’s father passed she married Harry’s father, who raised Zayn as his own as well as Harry when he came along. Harry did not even know they had different fathers until years later when their grandfather told them. But after their parents died of disease, they were basically orphans. Their grandmother was long gone as well, so Mr. Warwick took great care in raising his daughter’s children and they could not be more grateful for his love and kindness. But there were times that Zayn would miss their parents while Harry was too young to remember them, and they found comfort in each other and their toys.

A stuffed doll they made to look like their mother, based on her portraits, with dark brown curls made of yarn. A toy that was fashioned from a shirt that belonged to their fathers. Animals carved from wood that they used to paint. Various figurines they used in their doll house, dressed as pirates, navy men, queens, anything they decided to make them for the day. All the toys they found were saved for when Zayn had his own children, which they both knew would be soon after he wed.

Harry smiled at the recollection, knowing that his nephews and nieces did get their toys once they were old enough. Zayn’s departure from Hartfield was painful, but that was years ago and Harry did not like going through it again now with Sarah. As he remembered him and Zayn running around the corridors with the servants chasing them to try and get them dressed, he looked out the window and remembered the games they used to play with Sarah in the gardens, laughing and screaming to their hearts desire while she chased them. He could not remember a time in his life that wasn’t filled with happiness and excitement while Zayn was still around, but it seemed to dwindle after he left, and now it just seemed lifeless with Sarah gone as well.

It made him wonder if such joy would ever come to Hartfield again.

✺

With the pounding hooves of Bella beneath him, Louis smiled as Donwell Abbey came into view. The ride from London had not felt too tiring as it did in the past, but it always put a smile on his face to see his beloved home. Autumn was just beginning to set in Highbury, with the trees flourishing in their natural hues of reds and oranges and yellows, looking ever so beautiful against the backdrop of the pine trees. He could see deer in the distance, running as a herd through the open fields that were part of his estate.

Once he made it to the front of his house, he dismounted immediately and gave Bella to one of the stable boys.

“Hello, Michael,” he said. “How are you this evening?” The boy was about fourteen and bright eyed, with a cap covering his sandy hair.

“Good, sir,” Michael smiled. He also happened to be the youngest son of Mrs. Jennings, one of his longtime maids. “The servants have already prepared a bath for you as they anticipated you’d be here around this time.”

“Good lad,” Louis laughed, walking inside Donwell as he took his gloves off. Cook must have been baking a dessert at the moment, because he could already smell a whiff of an apple pie once he stepped inside. Even though he lived alone in the great house, he didn’t actually feel that way. He knew each and all his servants who worked around the estate, from the gardeners to the cooks to the maids. Their living depended on him, and he made sure to provide them with more than a decent home to work and live in. So he treated his servants as family, making sure they were always well cared for.

As he made his way to his rooms, past the shut up galleries, greeting any servants he saw on the way, he only found one thing at the forefront of his mind: a warm bath. And thankfully, it was sitting in his room, already full and steaming with vapor as a servant poured another pot in. His manservant was standing by ready to help him undress.

“Hello, Daniel,” Mr. Tomlinson said as he started to take off his cravat. He shrugged out of his jacket and vest, throwing his gloves towards one of the chairs while he planted his bum in another. He could feel the sweat clinging to his skin and desperately wanted to wash it off.

“Good evening, sir,” his servant replied with a smile, kneeling down to help him take off his boots. After managing to get his trousers off and socks, he sighed loudly once he eased himself into the tub.

He took a quick bath, thanking the servants as they brought in more warm water while he washed himself with a rag. With his head leaning over the edge as he soaked in it, he listened as another manservant, Reginald, relayed any news that happened in Highbury during his absence. But it wasn’t Highbury gossip that mostly the carriers of the town were into. It was mainly news about his farmers, how the stock was going, which of his tenants he needs to visit in the week.

Finally, it came time to dress again, feeling refreshed from the water. Daniel helped dress him again, tying his cravat before helping him with his trousers. Louis could really do this by himself, but he didn’t need more talk about how he would be the one gentleman in Highbury that didn’t keep a valet for himself. Besides, he liked having Daniel to talk to during the day. His hair was styled in the fashionable wavy curls of the day, feathered across his head, and he admired it as he looked in the looking glass.

Once he shrugged on his mustard over coat and Daniel nodded in approval, he walked through his home, watching each servant open a new door for him as he made his way. He quite enjoyed the French style the home was designed in, with the doors leading into another room instead of a hallway along the walls. He finally reached the corridor where his housekeeper was waiting for him, already expecting what she would say.

“Good evening, Mrs. Jennings!” he greeted her. “How has your day been?” She had served under his father as well when she was younger, starting young in the household and gradually becoming the head housekeeper. With her calm demeanor, long gray hair she kept in a cap, and spectacles that sat on her nose, she was as close to a mother figure as Louis could get after his own mother passed. And she proved that as she helped to raise him and Liam, helping them grieve the loss of their father when he passed as well. She was a constant figure in his life and his house - with the absence of a carrier to run it - and he was always praising her for doing it so well.

“Good evening, sir,” she said as she smoothed her dress while walking next to him. “My day has been fine. Are you off soon?”

“Yes,” he replied, “I need to call on Mr. Warwick and his grandson before the day is up. On account of missing the wedding of Ms. Jones and Mr. Rowland.”

“I heard it was a fine wedding, sir. All nice and proper and a good party held at Hartfield as well. Clara was just there dropping off some apples for their cook and her sister told her everything.”

Louis smiled as the thought of their servants gossiping. With their estates so close, he knew the servants of Hartfield and Donwell were close in contact as well, and knew that at least three families had members working in either house, like Clara and Hannah Miller, daughters of the Miller family. “Splendid,” he said as he continued to walk. “Then I expect to hear a full account once I arrive at Hartfield.”

“But you know what I’m about to say, sir?” she asked with a raised brow.

Mr. Tomlinson smirked. “Yes, but I know that will not stop you.”

“A gentleman on foot is unusual, sir!” she pleaded.

“I will take my carriage when necessary, Mrs. Jennings,” Louis smiled. “And not when I can easily make a walk to visit my dear friends. You know I enjoy the exercise.”

Mrs. Jennings sighed. “Well have a nice walk, sir. Let us hope no one mistakes you for a vagabond.”

“Not when I’m dressed like this!” Louis laughed before heading outside, taking his hat from a servant and striding towards the fields. It felt good to be home, and he just needed to call on the people that made it feel like it.

✺

Once Harry and his grandfather finished their supper, Harry took him to sit by the fire in the large study. As the old man dozed off, Harry decided to take one of the poetry books off the shelves and read it by the window, hoping the last remaining bits of sunlight would prove useful to the pages.

But he found himself unable to concentrate as he tried to read along, instead staring out the window to look at their gardens. He expected to see some servants walking about as usual, picking daisies as they talked to one another or going about their chores. Instead he saw Mr. Tomlinson approaching, waving to him as Harry put up a hand. Harry called for some tea to be brought as he stood, looking around the room to make sure they were presentable.

“We are about to have a visitor, Grandpapa,” Harry announced once the tea came.

“A visitor?” the old man yawned. “Who?” The door opened at that moment to reveal their guest. “Mr. Tomlinson!” Mr. Warwick smiled as he stood. “What a pleasure to see you.”

“Hello, Mr. Warwick,” he greeted before he turned towards the only carrier in the room, “and Harry.”

“Hello, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry grinned as Louis went to sit down in his chair. Even if Mr. Tomlinson didn’t arrive like a gentleman, he certainly dressed like one. Today he had on a navy jacket paired with tan trousers, and tall boots that didn’t have a speck of dirt on them despite having been in the fields just moments earlier. At least Harry could never find fault in how he dressed, staring at him as he sat in the chair. Mr. Tomlinson obviously didn’t live at Hartfield, but Mr. Warwick always had a chair there for Louis since he spent so much time in their house in the evenings. It was _his_ chair, especially when Harry was the one who ordered the upholstery colors to suit him: a floral red and black fabric. It was a wonder Louis didn’t have his own room at Hartfield, which Harry would be happy to decorate for him as well. He did have a guest room dedicated to him though, that Mr. Tomlinson loved to claim wasn’t his own.

“I came to wish you well,” Mr. Tomlinson said with a smile, Harry planting himself on the sofa in front of them.

“Well?” Mr. Warwick asked with knotted brows. “Oh. The wedding. A terrible day, really. Poor Miss Jones.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t for the new Mrs. Rowland,” Louis laughed. “Poor Mr. Warwick, poor Harry, yes. For you will miss her company here. But I cannot say poor Sarah. Not when she has her own house to run now.”

“If you say so, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry sighed.

“So how did you all behave?” Louis asked. “Who cried the most?”

Harry gave him a pointed stare. “We all behaved splendidly. Everyone was in their best looks and not a single tear throughout the church. Mr. Winston performed a lovely service, after all.”

“That sounds good,” he replied with a nod. “And what of Nick Grimshaw? Is he every bit as handsome as his brother says?”

Harry stayed silent as Mr. Tomlinson’s mouth slightly dropped. “He did not come?”

“He meant to come, but his aunt could not spare him you see,” Harry explained. “Mr. Rowland even showed us the letter he sent him earlier.” As they were walking out of the church and waiting for the carriages to take them to Hartfield, Harry took the time to ask Mr. Rowland where his brother was, and he had explained what had happened.

“He chose not to come, is what Mr. Grimshaw should have said,” Louis grumbled.

Harry frowned, looking over to see that his grandfather had fallen asleep again. “I don’t see why you would think that.”

“As a carrier, you have no need to understand this, Harry, but gentlemen are able to designate when and where they should be, no matter their circumstances. He has a duty towards his brother, but he simply chose not to come and is now making excuses.”

“But everyone knows that Mrs. Grimshaw is ill and she requires her nephew with her!”

Mr. Tomlinson laughed dryly. “Mrs. Grimshaw has been ill since forever and her nephew is neither a doctor nor remedy maker where he is needed at her side at every hour. Even in her state she would know what his duty is to his family and would not be keeping him so. If Nick Grimshaw wanted to come to Highbury he would’ve done it and has chosen to slight Mrs. Rowland instead.”

No. Mr. Tomlinson had to be wrong. Even though he did not have the pleasure of knowing Mr. Grimshaw yet, Harry was certain that he was a proper gentleman. If he could not have been present at the wedding, he had a perfectly good reason not to be there. “How stubborn you can be,” Harry grumbled. He knew this was a losing battle and he had no desire to argue with his friend over this. “No matter, Mr. Tomlinson, for I have much more important things to worry about.”

“Such as?” Louis chuckled as he stood to walk the room.

“I lost Sarah today. But I guess it is my own fault for planning the match myself,” he sighed.

“Honestly, Harry,” Mr. Tomlinson said with an eye roll. “You can hardly account for that.”

“Ha!” Harry cried. “Do you deny my skills at matchmaking then?”

“How can I deny something you pretend to have?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Leave it to a gentleman to never acknowledge the talents of carriers. Thanks to _me_ ,” he continued. “Mr. and Mr. Daniels are the parents of a beautiful baby girl. Her middle name is Harriet in my honor, if you do not recall.” Mr. Daniels worked at the bank when Harry had met him, and his now husband was an apprentice at the local blacksmith. Their parents weren’t too keen on having them marry, but when Harry saw that they were clearly interested in each other, he knew he had to get them together. So he would have orders sent when Neil would meet Jack at the bank, and invited them both to card parties at Hartfield, and watched as their romance blossomed. Within a year they were married, and named their first son after him.

“Just because you introduced them three summers ago does not make you their cupid, Harry,” Mr. Tomlinson laughed.

“Or when I helped dear old Mr. Gregory find his wife? After his first wife died everyone said he would never marry! And what happened when I introduced him to Mrs. Reynolds after her mourning for her later husband ended? They were married within six months! And that was because I made sure Mr. Gregory would be at Hartfield whenever she would visit. Now they have someone to be with as they grow older and it was all because of me!” He was pretty proud of that match as well.

“I’m pretty sure the only two single old people in Hartfield would have eventually met without your help, dear Harry.”

Mr. Tomlinson seemed to adore to contradict him whenever possible.

“Or my biggest accomplishment: our brothers,” Harry pointed out. “What did you say seven years ago? We were standing near the windows watching them walk together in the gardens – just outside of here! - and it was at that moment that I knew they were interested in each other. And what did you say? ‘Oh, Harry, Liam and Zayn couldn’t possibly be in love! They’ve known each other their entire lives – just as you and I – and they’ve never shown an inkling towards marriage!’ And then, thanks to me and my meddling, Liam finally proposed to Zayn and five children later they’re still as happy as can be.”

Louis paused in thought. “I do recall telling you that any attraction shall be of their own volition and not thanks to you.”

“Just admit that I have made another successful match, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry said smugly. “They said Mitch would never marry after losing his fiancé and look! Now he’s taken our dear Sarah.”

“Poor Ms. Jones!” Mr. Warwick groaned from his seat, apparently awake again. “Imagine her bringing a child into this world! Babies are so unsanitary. You must not make any more matches, Harry. Just look at the chaos they bring!”

“She is now Mrs. Rowland, Papa,” Harry reminded him. “And she will be very grateful to have children of her own, as most carriers want in their lives.”

“If Mrs. Rowland chooses to have children we shall all be supportive of her,” Mr. Tomlinson said. “How about I tell you of our brothers in London? I did bring a letter from Zayn to each of you,” he said as he reached into his coat pocket.

“A letter from Zayn!” Mr. Warwick exclaimed. “How delightful!”

“And how about the new baby?” Harry inquired as he handed a letter to his grandfather while keeping his own in his lap. “Is he well?”

“Well,” Louis began. “Baby Henry – or Harry as he will be called as well – looks every bit as mischievous as his uncle. A quiet lad at times, but always wanting attention on himself if your eyes are not already on him. Can’t tell you how many times he’s tried to grab my hair while I bounced him in my arms.”

“I can’t wait for their visit at Christmas then,” Harry smiled. He did long to see his brother. The house was always boisterous when Liam and Zayn arrived with their children, bringing the laughter and warmth of their own home everywhere.

“And Zayn?” Mr. Warwick asked. “Is he in good health?”

“Well I’m sure he will tell you in his letter,” Mr. Tomlinson explained. “But from what I observed he and my brother are in very good health. Do not worry at all, Mr. Warwick.”

“And the rest of the children?” he pressed.

“All in good health,” Louis said with a smile. “I played chess with James and he has almost beaten me twice. Marianne is learning to play the piano forte already, so I listened when she decided to hold a little concert one evening. And Louisa and Arthur enjoyed the dolls you gifted them.”

“Such wonderful children,” Mr. Warwick sighed. “I wish I saw them more often.”

“You know they are coming from Christmas, Grandpapa,” Harry said. “So with Mr. Tomlinson here as well, it shall be a nice holiday season under Hartfield’s roof.”

“I hope so,” Mr. Warwick sniffed. “As long as they don’t catch something.”

Harry playfully rolled his eyes before sharing a look with Mr. Tomlinson.

“Mr. Horan was here,” Harry said. “He wasn’t able to attend the wedding but made sure to attend the party here and he was most agreeable with me.”

“Ah yes,” the older man nodded. “I shall call on him tomorrow.”

And the night continued as usual. The three of them sat around the fire reading in silence as they usually did, with Harry catching up on the next chapter of his novel. Romance books were the only ones that really interested him, besides the gothic novels Zayn would recommend to him. His grandfather preferred to read medical pamphlets that Doctor Stevens would bring him, or sonnets from his favorite poets. But tonight, he was definitely reading the causes of rheumatisms and possible cures for it. Louis, on the other hand, liked to read books on military campaigns, or science journals that detailed new farming practices. He would read a romance novel here and there, but Harry knew that he’d rather spend his time reading about ways to improve the life of his tenants. Louis was just a proper gentleman all throughout, and Harry could not tease him about that. At least Mr. Tomlinson was the one constant in his life besides his grandfather, and he hoped that never changed.

✺

At breakfast the next day, Harry sat down in his usual spot while his grandfather opened mail from the day before and read the newspaper. The carrier looked over to see Sarah’s empty spot in front of him, sighing as he noticed that her plate was still set out, but quickly perking up once he remembered he was seeing her later in the day. Just as he took a bite of his egg, his grandfather made a noise. Harry looked up to see him putting on his spectacles to read what was in front of him. “Grandpapa?”

“There’s a new family in town, Harry,” Mr. Warwick said as he looked over a letter. “They are coming to call on us around noon.”

“Oh? Who are they?” Harry liked to keep himself up to date on the happenings of Highbury, and it was ever so rare that new people would arrive in Highbury.

“Mr. and Mrs. Clark,” his grandfather continued, “Merchants, I think? Something to do with trade. But they are very wealthy from it. They are coming to call on us to make a proper introduction, and as distinguished figures of Highbury, it is only right that we welcome them with grace.”

It had been a long time since Highbury gained a new family, so this was most intriguing. “I agree,” Harry said. “I have to visit Mrs. Rowland so I shall meet them very briefly before I leave. But I will make them a welcome basket as a gift! Then they can bring it back to their new home.” As interesting as a new family sounded however, Harry really wanted to call at Randalls like he promised Sarah.

“Splendid idea, Harry,” Mr. Warwick nodded. “Then we shall look generous as well and they will not think badly of the inhabitants of Highbury.”

And Harry knew it was always important to make a good first impression. So once breakfast was done he immediately got to work to make their gift basket, going around the house to pick up things that he knew would be useful. Then Bartholomew and Charles helped him wrap it with a bow and kept it in the kitchen for when it was needed.

The clock chimed that it was midday, so while the Clarks would be arriving soon, Harry knew he had to get ready to visit Sarah as well. After carefully considering his outfit in the large mirror - a lace trimmed cream shirt that left room for his décolletage to showcase a new gold necklace he had ordered along with navy trousers - he shrugged on a pine green overcoat that he ordered from Paris. It was velvet and smooth, perfect for the cooler weather that was coming in, with golden buttons that clasped in the front. With his hair perfectly curled and framing his face just so and a bit of rose fragrance behind his ears, he put on his white gloves as well, making sure they fit snuggly before exiting his room.

Hearing voices that didn’t belong to his Grandfather or the servants got him curious, so he looked down from the staircase, carefully hidden from whoever they were. He leaned over and saw a family standing in the foyer as his grandfather descended from the stairs to greet them.

“They must be the Clarks,” Harry whispered to himself. There were five of them in total: a shorter man wearing a simple black coat and beaver hat, a tall woman wearing a ridiculous feathered piece in her hair that Harry knew wasn’t in style, and twin boys in front of them who couldn’t have been more than eight years old. There was an older girl as well, probably no more than twenty, clearly arguing with her mother over something, with the look of irritation on her face was all too familiar. She was pretty, with round eyes, a pointed nose, and a delicate face. She had on a pink dress, still wearing her overcoat while the rest of the family had given them to the servants. Which was definitely a sign that Harry should invite her to go with him to visit Sarah instead of staying at Hartfield. Then she would be able to meet more people of Highbury before the day was over, and Harry would have a better chance of getting to know her as they walked. That’s when he decided to walk down the stairs himself, already knowing he was late to go see Sarah.

“Ah, Harry!” Mr. Warwick exclaimed as he saw him. “Mr. and Mrs. Clark, this is my grandson, Harry Styles.”

He went up to them and smiled as he bowed, standing next to his grandfather. “We welcome you to Hartfield!” Harry said as they stared at him. “I hope you are finding Highbury to your liking?”

“Yes very much so!” Mr. Clark said. He had kind eyes and a big smile, looking over to the woman next to him. “This is my wife, Matilda,” he said.

“A pleasure,” she said with a small curtsy. “And may I present our daughter, Charlotte, and our sons, Phillip and Michael. They just turned seven while Charlotte is one and twenty.”

“Ah!” Mr. Warwick said, getting his handkerchief. “How precious. My only daughter died long ago and I was left with my two grandchildren. The eldest, Zayn, has been married for some time and lives in London with his husband and children. Harry is the only one who hasn’t left me. Until he gets married, of course,” he teased.

“Oh I never plan to marry,” Harry said with a laugh, not wanting to think about that at the moment. “I regret to inform you all that I must depart on account of a promise I made to call on Mrs. Rowland today. I would love to stay, but this is rather pressing. Mr. Clark, would you allow Miss Charlotte to accompany me? I would love to invite you all here for dinner next week, so we can all get properly acquainted. But for now I would love to enjoy her company.” He thought it would be the least he could do given that she looked to be at wits with her mother. Besides, it was much more fun to talk with someone his own age when their parents weren’t around.

“Of course I would, Mr. Styles!” she smiled. “May I, Papa?”

“I do not see why not,” Mr. Clark said. “It would be an honor, Mr. Styles.”

And since Harry was already set to leave and Charlotte had not taken off her coat, they simply nodded to everyone as he led her towards the door. The cool autumn air hit their faces as they stepped outside, an owl hooting in the distance.

“I would take the carriage,” Harry explained as they started to walk along the graveled way, “but Randalls is but half a mile away! No use in taking it out when I’m more than happy to walk there.”

“That’s very practical of you, Mr. Styles,” she laughed. “My father bought a carriage yesterday after my mother demanded we have one. I don’t know if we’ll put it to much use, but she wants to have it and my father rarely denies her anything.”

“Really? Tell me about yourself,” Harry said as they made a turn into the main road, the falling leaves from the wind brushing their feet. “I would love to know everything about your family.”

“My father is a tradesman. He has worked in London for a few years but now runs his own business. When he knew we could move out of London to our own house, he looked around different villages around London and thought Highbury was the best fit. I was actually here during the summer!” she chirped. “I stayed in town with my father for two weeks while he secured a house here and oh how I fell in love with this village. I even met this wonderful man who would come into the market when I was there. Mr. Heyer of Abbey Mill Farm? Do you know him?”

“I have not made a proper acquaintance of him or his family,” Harry said as he searched his mind, not finding a face to match the name. “But I do know that Abbey Mill belongs to Mr. Tomlinson. He must be a tenant of his, which means that I have seen him yet have not put a face on his name.”

“He was so nice to me,” she sighed. “We would recommend each other books! I said that I enjoyed _Romance of the Forest_ and he read it the very next week! We enjoyed talking about books for hours on end.”

“Really?” Harry laughed. “I think it is always nice to make friends over books. I try to read the books Mr. Tomlinson recommends me as much as I can so we can discuss it, but I never find the time to read his favorites.”

“Mr. Tomlinson?” she asked with a frown. “I have heard his name spoken often but I do not know who he is.”

“Oh! My dear friend. He’s the owner of Donwell Abbey, which is but a mile away from Hartfield. You’ll see him soon enough! His younger brother married my older brother, and they are very happily married in London. And since Mr. Tomlinson lives alone at Donwell, he enjoys visiting Grandpapa and I almost daily. He is wonderful company.”

“Your brother is married to his brother? How interesting! I look forward to meeting him.”

“Yes, Zayn. He will be here for the Christmas season,” Harry replied, relieved that they were on the path that led to Randalls already. “So you shall meet them all then. But why have you come to Highbury, Miss Clark? I understood your family was looking for a house outside of London but didn’t say why. Unless a larger house was the only reason.” He suspected there had to be another besides what she said, for not many families moved to Highbury on such short notice from London.

Charlotte nodded. “We moved here to improve my mother’s health, really. Our doctor said the country air would do good for her lungs.”

Ah, suspicions confirmed. “Well the air is very good here,” Harry smiled. “I hope she likes the town as much as we all do. We might be of small population, but we all keep good company.”

Once they reached Randalls, Harry tried not to quicken his pace as they reached the door. It was a large house, even if it was significantly smaller than Hartfield. But a smaller house would be easier for Sarah to manage, and it was more than enough for the both of them at the moment. Mitch had only been living there for three years or so, so it needed a carrier’s touch. And as Harry walked along the dining room before the servant directed them to the sitting room, he could already see the subtle touches Sarah had already brought to the home. Her favorite flowers in vases on almost every corner, new drapes along the windows that had been ordered before their wedding, entirely new furniture. Truly, Mitch was lucky to have her as a wife.

The servant opened the door to the parlor, and Harry grinned as he saw his friend standing next to a man dressed in all black. “Sarah!” he cried as went to hug her. “Oh how lovely you look. You were already missed at breakfast!”

“I know my absence will take some time getting used to,” she chuckled with a sympathetic nod. “But I am truly grateful I still get to see you, Harry.”

“And I you, Sarah,” he smiled. “And I see I am not the first to visit you today. Good day, Mr. Winston!” He turned to greet him.

“Good day, Mr. Styles,” he grinned with a bow. “How pleasant seeing you here!”

Harry looked behind him to see Charlotte standing there observing them. “Mr. Winston! Allow me to introduce you to my new friend, Miss Charlotte Clark. She just moved to Highbury with her family and I’ve had the pleasure of walking with her here.”

“What an honor, Miss Clark,” Mr. Winston said with a deep bow.

Charlotte giggled as she curtsied. “Good day, Mr. Winston.”

“You may not be the first to visit,” Sarah said as she squeezed Harry’s hands. “But you are no less welcome, my dear.”

“I would hope not,” Harry laughed.

“Would you like to see one of the presents Mr. Grimshaw sent over?” Sarah said as she led them all towards another room next door. “He sent many, but I think this one is my favorite.” She pointed to a painting on the wall.

“Goodness that house is so large!” Charlotte exclaimed as she sat by the window to admire it from afar. “What is it?”

“Enscombe,” Harry said as he read the plate at the bottom. A large white mansion sat on top of a hill in the background, with the drawings of various animal creatures and plants in the foreground. “It is the estate Mr. Grimshaw will inherit.”

“I heard it is one of the greatest houses of Yorkshire,” Mr. Winston added from behind.

“Who is Mr. Grimshaw?” Charlotte asked.

“Oh! He is my brother in law now,” Mrs. Rowland said as she went to sit next to Charlotte. “My husband’s older brother.”

Harry nodded. “He was raised by their aunt and uncle after their mother died, with their father caring for Mitch while Nick went with their mother’s brother. Once he came of age he took his uncle’s name instead of keeping Rowland, but they are still brothers all the same. And we are most eager for him to visit Highbury.”

“Has he not come to visit in all this time?”

Harry shook his head. “His aunt is in poor health and can never spare him.”

“And it would be the final blessing of our marriage for him to visit,” Mrs. Rowland sighed. “But no matter, he shall come when he is allowed!”

“And who can talk of such – _far_ away things when there is such beauty before us,” Mr. Winston added as he gestured around the room, causing Charlotte to blush as Sarah laughed. “We must not focus on subjects that pain us when we have such lovely distraction here!” Harry appreciated his attempts to make them laugh.

They continued to talk about mundane things, like the kind of silver Sarah was gifted for the wedding, or what Mr. Rowland was up to at the moment. He had business to attend to in town, but he did spend a nice breakfast with Sarah before he left. And Harry was able to help Sarah while Mr. Winston and Charlotte were left conversing. Eventually Mr. Winston left, and Harry had to leave with Ms. Clark as well.

“How did you enjoy my friend?” Harry asked as they walked back to Hartfield. The cooler air of the evening was beginning to set in, and Harry was thankful for his warm cloak.

“She is a lovely woman, Mr. Harry,” Charlotte replied, “and most kind! What a wonderful carrier to grow up with and have as a governess.”

“She always felt like the sister - and mother at some points - that I never had, so she will always have a special place in my life. And it makes me happy to see her married as well, able to have her own family.” Harry had zero doubt that they would be starting a family soon. He couldn’t wait to see Sarah having her own child to take care of eventually.

“I do so wonder, Mr. Harry…”

“Yes?”

“Why are you not married? You mentioned it when we met at Hartfield, but if you don’t mind me asking, what is your reasoning behind it? It is very odd for a carrier to speak of such things in that way. We are always expected to marry.”

“Oh,” Harry frowned. He rarely thought about marriage in relation to himself these days. “I guess I have no inducements to. Fortune I do not want. Employment I do not want. And I think there are very few married carriers who are able to fully run a household like I do at Hartfield. I like my independence really, and can’t imagine having to deal with a husband. He would probably want to tell me what to do, control me…” he trailed off, thinking of who would even be suitable as a husband for him. “No, if I were to marry it should have to be someone very up to my standards, but I’d rather not be tempted. Yes, marriage is the last thing on my mind if it happens to be my own.”

“I see,” Ms. Clark nodded.

“But I am more than happy to arrange marriages around Highbury,” he announced with a smile. “You know I helped Mr. Rowland court his new wife? And there have been a few other people in town who have benefited from my skills.”

“I did not know that!” Charlotte laughed as they walked on. “You must have a keen eye for what couples want in each other.”

Harry laughed, nodding. “What I do is see two people who might be mildly interested in each other, and if it is in their best interest to marry, I do my meddling to make sure they get to know one another like so. Then the courting and such happens and a wedding within a year!”

“I see,” his new friend grinned. “I hope you can help find me a husband in Highbury then?”

“Do you wish to marry?” Harry asked, looking over. Most carriers he met did, in his limited experience of meeting new people around Highbury.

“I do,” she said with a sigh. “I have no doubt that you noticed how I interact with my mother. She constantly picks apart my appearance or deliberately contradicts me because she doesn’t want to have the same opinion as me. As much as I respect my father, I would love to get out from their household and have my own to run. And I don’t care whether my husband will be rich or poor. I just want to be happy.”

Harry nodded as they walked along. He liked knowing that Charlotte seemed to be a romantic as well, not thinking rationally in her terms of marriage but from the heart. And if she desperately wanted to escape her mother, then he knew he had to find the perfect husband for her as soon as possible. “Would you like to see Donwell Abbey? If we take this road,” he nodded towards one path in the fork, “we can walk there on the way back to Hartfield.”

“Oh yes!” she grinned. “I would love to see the house from afar.”

“Come along then,” Harry smiled.

They walked along until the long path and up a hill until a familiar house came into view, far away across the hills. The lake that lay in front of it was visible, shining in the sunlight. Harry remembered the days in his childhood when he would join Louis and their brothers to go fishing there, barely catching anything but still arriving home in wet clothing and bellies full of laughter. All the memories he had at Donwell were wonderful ones, even if he didn’t spend much time there.

“That’s Donwell Abbey?” Charlotte gasped. “And all of this belongs to Mr. Tomlinson?”

Harry nodded. “Everything we see belongs to him. He is quite rich, even if he doesn’t like to boast about it. The humble streak in him.”

“How wonderful,” Ms. Clark marveled, still looking at the view.

“Come,” Harry smiled. “We should be getting back to Hartfield. Your parents must be wondering where you are!” So they continued on their trek, saying goodbye to Donwell and getting back on their path. They passed a few people on the road, Harry making sure to greet them as they walked by.

“Hello, Mr. Stevens!” he called to them.

“Hello, Mr. Styles!” they would call back. Even if Harry didn’t have a personal friendship with everyone in the village, it was still nice to know as many people by name so he could greet them as so. Which is why he still found it odd that he couldn’t remember what Mr. Heyer looked like. They arrived back at Hartfield, Harry trying to hear where his grandfather was in the house as he handed his cloak to a servant.

“Mr. Warwick is in the main library, Mr. Harry,” Bartholomew said as he walked by. “With Mr. Tomlinson.”

Ah. Louis had already arrived then. At least his grandfather wasn’t alone. “Thank you, Bartholomew,” he said as he nodded for Charlotte to follow.

“Harry!” Mr. Warwick exclaimed as they walked into the library, both him and Louis standing to greet them. “I was wondering when you would arrive. The Clarks have gone back home, as the boys had to get back home for their supper.”

“Then we shall send Charlotte in our carriage. Charles?” he turned to the servant standing near the door. “Can you send for it?”

“Right away, sir,” Charles nodded before leaving.

“You’re very kind, Mr. Styles,” she smiled.

Harry looked over to see Louis observing Charlotte carefully after he walked towards them, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. “Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry said. “May I present Miss Charlotte Clark, new to Highbury along with her family.”

“Yes, Mr. Warwick was just informing me. A pleasure,” Louis said with a bow, kissing her gloved hand once he asked for it.

Charlotte smiled. “Mine as well, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Oh Harry?” Mr. Warwick said from his chair. “Do send Miss Charlotte with the basket you made. I forgot to give it to her parents and they’ve already left as you know.”

Of course his grandfather forgot to give it. No matter, Harry preferred giving it to Charlotte himself. “I shall go fetch it,” Harry nodded.

Louis followed him out of the room. “I’ll help you,” he called out.

“You know I don’t need help,” Harry giggled as he looked behind him.

“I know,” Mr. Tomlinson answered in a hush tone once he caught up to him. “I just wanted to talk to you privately. How was your day today, dear Harry?”

“Good for the most part,” he replied as they walked into the hallway. “I visited Mrs. Rowland and I got to take Miss Clark along. Her family just moved here to Highbury and they came to call on us earlier. Since I saw her fighting with her mother, I offered to take her with me to Randalls and everyone agreed it was best. So now she has met Mrs. Rowland and Mr. Winston.”

“How interesting,” Louis mused. “I should pay a visit to the Clarks later in the week to welcome them properly from my end. And send them a few apples from the orchards.” Donwell was famous for them, so any gift from their prized trees was a valued gift indeed.

“They should be calling on you, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry said as he picked up the basket, which was full of flowers, expensive teas, some medicine that Mr. Warwick swore they would need eventually.

“And I never like to stand on ceremony, Harry,” Louis smirked, taking the basket from him. “You know this already.”

Harry could only roll his eyes.

They walked back to the foyer, right as Charlotte was getting into the carriage. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Styles,” she said as Louis went to put the basket next to her seat. “I have much enjoyed our day.”

“Then visit whenever you’d like!” he said cheerfully, “Hartfield is always welcome to friends of mine.”

“You are so kind!” she grinned, looking much more relaxed than she did when she first arrived. “I thank you.”

Mr. Tomlinson stood beside him as they watched the carriage ride off together, the sun going down in the distance.

“I guess it didn’t take you that long to find another companion after Mrs. Rowland,” Mr. Tomlinson noted, the carriage finally going out of view.

“The universe didn’t want to see me lonely, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry replied easily. And he hoped it stayed that way.

✺

“What do you think of Harry’s new friendship with Charlotte Clark?” Louis asked.

He had visited the Clarks first thing in the morning and found them to be pleasant people. He particularly liked Charlotte and her father, but her mother was… off putting. She seemed cold in her gaze when he initially arrived, but once her husband told her he was the owner of Donwell Abbey, her demeanor seemed to change like night to day. Suddenly she was ever the doting hostess and looked to make sure he was comfortable. Louis knew exactly what that meant, and he hated people like that. Having stature doesn’t mean you deserve the most respect. He had learned to resent people like that as he learned the ways of their world, and it looks like Mrs. Clark would be a part of that group. The boys were well mannered though, their temperament much like their sisters. He stayed for half an hour and chatted mostly with Mr. Clark as Charlotte stayed in the room to embroider.

“His friendship with Charlotte? I think it’s wonderful that he has found a new companion!” Sarah explained, putting down her needlework. “I haven’t said this out loud, but I was worried about how my absence from Hartfield would be taken by him. He was so used to living with me that I knew it would be a drastic change for him to be without, but I am so relieved that he found someone close in age who he can rely upon.”

“You’re right,” Mr. Tomlinson smiled as he continued to gaze out the window. “I would rather Harry busy himself with someone new than to be moping around Hartfield like I knew he wanted to be. I just hope he won’t busy himself with trying to marry her off.”

“Why not?” Sarah chuckled. “She has a tolerable face, and I think any man would like to have her as a wife. And since she is new to Highbury, it would not be surprising if she catches the attention of a few gentlemen.”

“Because then Harry will simply busy himself over finding her a husband instead of enjoying life as it should be. A husband will come to her in due course, if she wants it. Not by Harry trying to pair her off with whoever he sees fit.”

Sarah sighed. “But Harry has nothing else to do in this town. There aren’t enough young people to hold balls, for him to visit, or anything that carriers his age would be doing with his large fortune. Making his matches is his only entertainment, from what I’ve seen.”

“I suppose, but he should still stay out of people’s lives. I wonder if he will even stop when he’s married.”

“I wish he would marry!” Sarah exclaimed. “Do you not wonder, Mr. Tomlinson, why he has not married yet? I always thought by now he would’ve liked to have met someone to marry.”

“Why?” Louis chuckled. Harry used to talk of marriage when he was younger, but as he grew older Louis seemed to notice a disenchantment with it for his own, brushing away suitors, but still found enjoyment with marrying others. “I know Harry says that he will never marry, but we know that’s nonsense. He has only said it because he is too comfortable in his home and doesn’t see a suitor to his tastes. Remember that poor fellow who tried to court him once he was out in society?”

“Ah yes,” Mrs. Rowland laughed. “Mr. Bellows. Handsome man he was, but Harry would not have him.”

“Because Mr. Bellows said he prefers sunrises over sunsets. _‘What kind of man would say the sunrise is more beautiful, Mr. Tomlinson? Everyone knows dusk is the most beautiful!_ ’” he parroted. “I would love to know how his mind works sometimes.”

“But it’s not as if Harry was in love with him to begin with,” Sarah snickered. “He just finds excuses to why he won’t marry.”

Once Harry reached marrying age, Louis had wondered if he would find a husband as soon as he could. But given his comforts at Hartfield, and his disdain towards multiple suitors over the years, Louis could tell Harry would only want to marry someone who truly interested him, and possibly had his heart.

“It would not be hard to find him a husband. Harry is pretty to look at. In fact, I love to look at him. He has delicate features, a nice height, a beautiful smile, everything a carrier should possess. And he is not vain about his looks. No, he vanity lies elsewhere, but I would never call Harry a vain person.”

“How nice to know,” Sarah chuckled. “Even though we are not talking of Harry’s looks.”

“No we are not,” Louis sighed. “I would like to see Harry in love, as I told my brother in London. Harry has long been suited for marriage in my opinion.”

“I agree,” Sarah replied with an arched brow. “I just hope I am not a grandmother by the time he finally chooses a husband. I would like to be able to see his own children as they grow.”

“As do I,” Mr. Tomlinson laughed. “As do I. He will find a husband. I’m sure of it.”

✺

Since it was Harry’s day to visit the poor, and the Rowlands had already gone on their honeymoon, he thought it would be a good idea to bring Charlotte along, so they could have more time to get to know one another.

“Was growing up in London as exciting as everyone says?” Harry asked as they walked down to the poor houses, which lay past Mr. Winston’s home. But first they needed to go into town to gather supplies to buy to bring to the families, so with their empty baskets and old blankets, Harry and Charlotte walked into the village square and shopped around for food and other necessities, filling up their baskets from vendor to vendor.

“Oh!” Charlotte squeaked, ducking behind one of the stalls. Harry frowned, looking around to see what the matter was.

“Charlotte?” he whispered. “Is something wrong?”

“My mother!” she whispered back.

Harry’s eyes traveled over the crowd to see a carriage parked near the post office, and a lady stepping inside it. Ah, so that must have been Mrs. Clark. “Does she know you’re with me?”

“I don’t know if my father told her I’d spend the day with you,” she explained, emerging once the carriage was off and going back to their home. “But I knew if she saw me carrying all of this to take to the poor,” she motioned to the baskets she was holding, “she would make me go straight home! She hated whenever Father sent donations to the charity houses or orphanages.”

“I see,” Harry grimaced. So she was a harsh woman. No wonder Charlotte could not stand her. “No matter, my friend. We shall be going on our usual visit and your mother will know nothing about it! Unless she’s part of the town gossips,” he said with an eye roll. But then again, Harry didn’t think she would be stupid enough to openly admit that she hates giving charity; not when that would be looked down upon. No, he was sure he was safe having Charlotte help him on his duties for the rest of her time in Highbury.

They bought the remainder of food they needed before heading out to the houses, happily talking until Harry heard a voice from above.

“Oh, Mr. Styles!”

He looked up to see Miss Teasdale waving at them from her window on the second story of the building, a grey cap over her head. “Hello, Miss Teasdale!” He didn’t know what exactly she wanted, but he certainly didn’t want to stay under her window for an hour to hear her explain.

“Hello there!” she shrilled. “I have just received a letter from Timothée! Would you like to come in and sit with us while I read it to you?”

Harry would like to do anything but that. “I’m sorry, Ms. Teasdale,” he lamented. “But it is my day to visit the poor today and I would not like to give it up. I shall stop by tomorrow on my usual visit instead.” After all, he already made weekly visits to them, to give her company – and now alone since he didn’t have Sarah to always accompany him as they did before - and to satisfy Mr. Warwick, but he always wished he could avoid going so often. Maybe he could stand it better if he didn’t ramble so much about her nephew.

“I see!” Miss Teasdale said as she continued to wave. “Then I shall see you tomorrow!”

“Goodbye!” Harry called and whispered for Charlotte to follow along. He didn’t want to stay a moment longer before Miss Teasdale insisted on another reason for them to stay.

“Who was that?” Charlotte asked as they walked.

“I shall explain later,” Harry chuckled, not wanting to give her life’s story already. “Probably when I actually introduce you to her, but for now do not trouble yourself about knowing Miss Teasdale. You shall know her presence soon enough in Highbury.”

Charlotte arched a brow as she chuckled. They continued to walk until they reached Mr. Winston’s house, with the owner just happening to arrive there. It was a decent house, with the perfect amount of space deserving for a clergyman. It looked like the vicar wanted to approach them as he noticed them walking up the lane, but hesitated and kept his distance instead.

“Good day, Mr. Winston!” Harry called out, raising the baskets he had in his hands in the air. “We are off to visit the poor!”

“Why thank you, Mr. Styles!” the vicar called out, tipping his hat and giving Charlotte a small smile. Charlotte nodded her head back, and seeing them interact sparked an idea inside Harry’s head. Perhaps it was time for Mr. Winston to find a wife, and who better than Charlotte? Yes, he shall have to watch them most carefully in the coming weeks to see if there was a mutual attraction, which involved inviting Mr. Winston to Hartfield of course. Oh! It was too perfect. Too perfect indeed.

✺

“So how are things at Donwell these days, Mr. Tomlinson?” Mr. Warwick asked as he ate his gruel.

It was midday, and Louis paid his daily visit to Hartfield earlier than usual, since he didn’t have much work to do at Donwell and thought Mr. Warwick would like the company. And even though the sun was still in the sky, the old man was already dressed for bed on this day, happily eating by the fire with his night cap.

“I’d say very well,” Louis reported, sitting comfortably in his chair. “We’re having a very good harvest this year, and all my farmers are reporting a good crop. I’m sure we will have plenty of food for the winter months.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Warwick nodded. “I-”

“Excuse me, sir,” Bartholomew said as he walked into the room. “Mr. Winston is here to see you.”

“Mr. Winston?” the old man frowned, putting down his spoon. “I don’t recall asking him to call on me today. Well, send him in.”

“Very well, sir,” the servant nodded.

“Good day, Mr. Warwick,” Mr. Winston said as he walked into the drawing room, his hat in his hands. “Oh! Mr. Tomlinson as well. I did not expect to find you here. How do you do?”

Louis stood up to greet him, nodding his head before sitting back down. “I am keeping Mr. Warwick company. How are you doing, Winston?”

“Very well,” the vicar smiled. “I have just finished some parish business and since I was close by, I decided to call on Mr. Warwick and Mr. Styles. Pray tell, where is he?”

“Oh he is out of doors with Ms. Clark,” Mr. Warwick explained, with a nod towards the windows. “They are in the garden painting the scenery. Harry told me it was a beautiful day and assured me that it was not too cold, so they took their easels and watercolors and decided to paint out in the shrubberies to pass the time.”

“I see,” Mr. Winston said, walking over to the windows to glance about. “Where exactly?”

“Not through that window,” Mr. Tomlinson pointed out, getting up from his seat. “They are in this part of the garden.” He stepped towards the other large windows of the room, smiling as he found Harry where he thought he’d be. His hair was in its usual updo, and his outfit was covered by an apron, and Miss Clark was wearing a matching one. They seemed to be painting the gardens, if he squinted enough to see what shapes their brushes were making. It made Louis remember when Harry used to do that with Zayn on nice afternoons, and then with Mrs. Rowland once his brother married, and now he has another companion. At least it suited him well to be in company, rather than all alone in this large house.

“Ah,” Mr. Winston said, coming up to stand next to him in the window. “Now I see them. And Miss Clark is there as well.”

“Yes,” Louis agreed. “She has proved to be a valuable friend to Harry these days.”

“Do you know how much her dowry is?”

Mr. Tomlinson frowned, wondering why the man should be asking such a question. “Miss Clark’s dowry? No. I’m afraid I do not know, nor ever had an interest to-”

“Five thousand,” the vicar cut in, firm in his voice. “I have asked around and finally know what the figure would be.”

Louis raised a brow. “And it is a decent sum?” He really did not care how much carriers were able to bring to their marriage, but he wondered what Mr. Winston wished to know such information.

“I suppose,” Mr. Winston admitted. “But it is nothing compared to what other carriers have. For instance, Mr. Styles, who has thirty thousand a year.”

Now Louis needed to interject, turning his head to face him. “Winston, why are you talking about their dowries? Neither of them is having any thought of marriage, if I remember correctly.”

And that is when Mr. Winston flushed a bit, excusing himself. “Oh a- friend of mine – from Bath – has always wanted to know the carriers around here, should he want to visit and perhaps court one of them. He doesn’t have much money, and his parents have told him he needs to marry a carrier of good fortune. So – in order to answer him with the most accuracy of course – I began to discreetly research such things.”

Mr. Tomlinson had half a mind to not believe him but did not press as a courtesy. Unless particularly vexed, Louis wasn’t one to expose the lies of others to their face. “I see,” he offered. “Well I hope your friend comes to Highbury to actually get to know the carriers that live here, and not have an interest in only their money. They are flesh and blood, just as we all are.”

“Of course!” Mr. Winston claimed. “I was just noting on the information I found. That is all.”

Louis hummed back, still not convinced as he turned to look at Harry and Ms. Clark again. He didn’t like people talking about Harry’s money to begin with, or the lack of it that others had. But Mr. Winston always struck him as the superficial type of man, so it really should not have been shocking to have this type of conversation in the first place. He just wondered what would come out of it.

✺

A few days later, Harry decided to take Charlotte shopping into town. She had mentioned that she needed a new bonnet, so Harry was more than happy to help her shop for one. With his hair up in a black headscarf, and wearing a new yellow jacket that was perfect for the cooler weather, he happily walked through the village with her as he greeted villagers along the way. They were in Ford’s shop, looking around at fabrics and ribbons displayed about. He knew he had to get more of his embroidery done, so he chose some pretty threads for himself while Charlotte looked over the ribbons in one corner.

“Harry?” she asked as she approached him. “My father has met Mr. Tomlinson quite a few times now, and I believe them to have a nice friendship, which my father enjoys. But when I heard Mr. Tomlinson mention his brother, it left me confused. If his brother is Mr. Payne – who is married to your brother - why do they have different last names? One Tomlinson and the other Payne?”

“Oh that is because they are step-brothers!” he smiled, always liking to talk about the Donwell family. “Mr. Tomlinson’s father was married to his mother - a French lady who I don’t remember much but I recall she was very beautiful and kind - before she died and he married Mr. Payne’s mother a year or two later, who already had Liam from her first marriage. They grew up as siblings since they were similar in age, as Zayn and I did even though we shared a mother, but they love each other like blood brothers. When Mr. Tomlinson’s father died and the current one inherited the estate, he let his stepmother live there until she passed a few years later. They’ve been quite alone since Mr. Tomlinson was sixteen, but he’s grown to be quite a gentleman since then.”

“How sad,” Charlotte frowned. “To lose parents like that.”

Harry nodded. “I was too young to remember my parents, but I know it affected Mr. Tomlinson and Mr. Payne very deeply when their father died.” He often asked Mr. Tomlinson if he missed them, if he felt pain about the loss, but his reply was to simply smile and say his pain was not one to burden others with. So, Harry thought he liked to keep his grief private, not even sharing with old friends.

“I see,” Charlotte nodded, looking down at the ribbons in her hand.

Just as he was holding a reddish fabric to the light to see if it shimmered, Harry’s eyes widened as he looked out the window. “Oh bollocks,” he whispered to himself. He groaned as he put down the yard of fabric, looking around for something else to busy himself with before she came in.

The bell above the door rang across the room. “Mr. Styles!” came a shrill voice, and he turned to see a woman rush towards him.

“Miss Teasdale,” he sighed with a nod. “Allow me to introduce you to a friend, Miss Charlotte Clark. She is new to Highbury along with her family. Charlotte, this is an old friend, Miss Louise Teasdale.”

“Good day to you, Miss Clark!” Ms. Teasdale said. “But Mr. Harry, such wonderful news! I saw you through the window and just had to rush in to tell you! Today I received a letter from my nephew, Timothée Chalamet! Normally he writes on a Tuesday, but today is Thursday and I found a letter from him! Just like it happened last week! Isn’t that wonderful?”

“How wonderful,” Harry smiled politely. He knew she was about to tell him what his letter said.

“But I must tell you!” she rushed out. “Poor Timothée almost died! He, an orphan! You know he had been at Weymouth with the Fosters these past few weeks? They have been having a marvelous time with parties and entertainment almost every day – with what Timothée tells me of course and he is always so modest. But oh! The incident! He was with Colonel Foster and his family out at sea – one of those lovely parties that those rich folk love to have out on the open waters where they eat on a boat and such - and suddenly a heavy gust of wind almost threw him overboard! Knocked him off of his feet! He would have been carried off in the wind! Luckily, Mr. Baxter, the new husband of Timothée’s friend, caught him at the last moment and saved his life! Just like that! He would have perished if had gone overboard but we are ever so grateful that Mr. Baxter was there to rescue him! Eternally grateful!”

Harry’s eyes widened, thinking of how heroic Mr. Baxter must have looked as he caught him. “I’m glad Timothée was not harmed, Miss Teasdale.”

She smiled so widely. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Styles! I know Timothée will be so happy to know that he has such friends in Highbury who think of his well being.”

“Of course he does. Do come for tea this week, Miss Teasdale,” Harry said with a nod. “with your mother as well. Grandpapa is always eager to have you both at Hartfield.”

“You are the most kind, Mr. Harry,” she cried. “I shall make sure to tell mother once I get back home! Or would you like to stop by and tell her your invitation yourself?”

“Oh no,” he hurried, knowing he did not have the time or patience to hear her jibber jabber any longer. “We would love to stay, but I should walk back to Hartfield with Charlotte. Grandfather will be expecting us and I would not like him to worry about me. Good day, Miss Teasdale. Have a good afternoon.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Harry!” she called out as they left, waving them off as she stayed in the store.

He hurried Charlotte out of the store as quickly as they could, already walking back in the direction of Hartfield, briskly walking towards the lane that led to his home. “Why must I hear everything about Timothée?” Harry huffed, kicking a small stone with his shoe to avoid stepping on it.

“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked.

“Good day, Mr. Alcott!” Harry called as they passed by a middle-aged man on the road, who tipped his hat back in return.

“Good day, Mr. Styles! And Ms. Clark!” he answered before continuing his walk.

Once he was out of earshot, Harry continued on his rant. “Heaven forbid that I should bore people with my knowledge of the Tomlinsons or Paynes all together than how Miss Teasdale does about Timothée Chalamet!”

“Who is he?” she asked. “I have often heard his name mentioned but no one has explained who he is.”

Well, now would be the best time to give Charlotte the Teasdale family history. “Timothée is her nephew,” Harry began. “Unfortunately, the Teasdales fell into ruin over two decades ago through no fault of their own. Mrs. Teasdale – the old lady you have already met - was married to the vicar before he passed, and since a new one was sent to replace him and they did not have any means to buy another house of similar fashion, they had to move to a smaller home, which is now their apartment in town. Mr. Chalamet’s mother was a Teasdale – and she was long married before they became poor-, but after she died and her husband did as well, Timothée was left an orphan. So instead of Miss Teasdale and her mother having to raise him, an old friend of his deceased father offered to bring him up as a companion for his daughter. That meant Colonel Foster – Timothée’s father’s old friend - was in charge of his education for the first part of his life. And once Timothée was old enough to write letters, he has sent them constantly to his aunt and she has constantly told us every single word he wrote. And not just that! She must remark about the tone of each letter and how she imagined Timothée looked while writing it. What he was wearing, how his mood must have been, his health, the list goes on!”

“Goodness,” Charlotte exclaimed. “That does seem unpleasant. But if her letters from her nephew are the one of the joys in Miss Teasdale’s life, I’m sure everyone must let her be that way. Since she has fallen into ruin.”

“Yes,” Harry sighed. “She really is a sweet woman, but her nonsense can be too much at times. However, Grandpapa still regards them as friends, and they shall always be as such at Hartfield. I just wish I didn’t have to hear about Timothée knitting a pair of garters being brought up for an entire month whenever we hold conversations.”

Just as Harry was about to explain more about the troubles of Timothée, he heard Charlotte squeal from beside him. “Oh, Mr. Styles! It’s Peter Heyer!”

Harry followed her glance and looked towards the fields. A tall man was walking towards them, his face lighting up once he saw Charlotte. Ah, this must have been the farmer Charlotte had mentioned before. He was wearing a grey, worn overcoat, his suspenders visible under it. He had sandy colored hair under the hat he wore, no doubt his father’s judging on the old styling of it.

“Your friend?” Harry asked as he got closer.

“Yes,” she cried. “Mr. Heyer! Allow me to introduce Mr. Harry Styles. Mr. Harry, this is Peter Heyer.”

“Good day,” Harry nodded.

Mr. Heyer tipped his hat at both of them. “Good day,” he said. “I have seen Mr. Styles from afar many times. Good day, sir.”

“Have you?” Harry asked. Well he wouldn’t be surprised. “I know you are acquainted with Mr. Tomlinson then?”

The farmer’s face lit up at the mention of him. “Yes!” he cried, “he is such a kind man. Ever since my father died and I took over the farm, he has been the most attentive in helping Abbey Mill run smoothly. I could not ask for a better mentor. Or a better person to know!”

Harry smiled at hearing such praise for Louis. He knew he was well liked in Highbury, but it was always pleasant to hear such pleasures from strangers. “Yes he is,” Harry nodded. “And a dear friend of mine.”

“How are you, Mr. Heyer?” Charlotte asked. “I have not seen you in so long! You know we have settled for good in Highbury now?”

“You have?” Mr. Heyer grinned. “I was wondering why I had not seen you in the apartment you had in town for so long.”

As they walked side by side as they talked, Harry fell back so he could watch them interact, noticing how elated Charlotte looked in the first place. Maybe that’s who Harry should try to marry her off with, but then he remembered how her mother was. Would she accept a farmer like that? Even though he was wealthy in his own right. Harry thought he would just see this play out instead. Neither encourage nor discourage their affections with their ranks of disparity. He just needed to know whether there was a genuine love there, or if it was a mere infatuation on both sides.

Charlotte seemed elated as she walked with him, though, so at least she could be afforded some happiness with her new life in Highbury. Harry just hoped Mr. Heyer proved to be the husband she needed, not just wanted.

✺

“Do you think Highbury shall ever see Mr. Grimshaw?” Mr. Corden mused as he puffed at his cigar.

Mr. Tomlinson looked up from his game of chess with Mr. Rowland. “I believe so,” Mitch answered as he moved his pawn. “I have letters from him on a quick basis, and he has said he is trying extremely hard to come here, talking to his aunt and such. We expect him at Christmas at the very least. He has been regularly corresponding with Mrs. Rowland as well, and she tells me that she quite enjoys seeing his letters as his handwriting is so delicate. Almost like a carrier’s is what Miss Teasdale says!”

Ah, Louis remembered the night. The Rowlands had just arrived from their honeymoon the day past, so Harry decided to throw a dinner to welcome back to Highbury. All of their good friends had been invited, with

They were having a gentlemen’s night, hosted by Mr. Corden at his home. It wasn’t Mr. Tomlinson’s favorite event to attend, but they were held only twice a month, and it would be a chance to see Mr. Horan as well when he was in town. So Louis always grinned and bore a night with other gentlemen in the village, with no carriers around and their conversation would vary greatly from it.

“Why did he not come to your wedding again?” Mr. Fields asked. He was a lawyer who resided in town, and was an overall nice gentleman who Louis could conversation now and then.

“Our aunt kept him in Yorkshire,” Mitch sighed. “And he could not come because of her sick health.”

 _That was still no excuse not to come,_ Louis wanted to say, but knew it was best to keep silent. It would only hurt Mitch to be reminded that Nick did not do everything in his power to attend his only brother’s wedding.

“How is your new wife, Mr. Rowland?” Mr. Parker asked. He was the curate of the parish, doing the sermons when Mr. Winston was not able to. He had been in Highbury for half a year already, and he was more agreeable than Mr. Winston. Had it been his decision, Louis would have put him as vicar over Mr. Winston. “Is marriage suiting you both well?”

“It is everything I imagined,” he smiled fondly. “I knew she was perfect, but she is a literal angel. She is exactly what Randalls needed.”

Mr. Tomlinson didn’t want to admit it, but Harry was to thank for that. He knew Mr. Rowland would not have courted Sarah without encouragement – especially when she is shy and modest about her feelings – so Harry’s prodding did prove well for the match. Harry wasn’t the sort.

“Reminds me of when I met Ginny,” Mr. Fields sighed. At least his marriage was made long before Harry started his matchmaking escapades.

“How about you, Mr. Winston?” Mr. Rowland asked.

“Me?” The vicar asked, hands clasped behind his back and staring at them inquisitively.

“You and Mr. Tomlinson are the only men unmarried here,” Mitch explained. “Have you not thought of marriage?”

Mr. Winston seemed to pause in thought. “I have,” he nodded. “And I believe I can make a quite advantageous one with a particular carrier.”

“And who may that be?” Mr. Tomlinson asked. He wondered if it was someone from Highbury or in the surrounding towns.

“I shall not say,” he laughed, “for I would rather keep it to myself until I make my conquest.”

“And if you cannot?” Mr. Corden asked.

Mr. Winston scoffed. “I think I shall prevail. They have given me every sign that they feel the same way towards me, and I am just waiting for the opportune moment to propose.”

“There are some rich ladies in Bath who my friends write me of,” Mr. Winston answered with a nod. “If I am in search of a carrier away from Highbury, that is where I will go.”

“So you do not plan to marry for love?”

“I shall love the carrier that has a large dowry,” he said simply. “For if we are kept in comfort throughout marriage, then we shall be in love with the life we have.”

It took every fiber of Mr. Tomlinson’s being for him not to roll his eyes.

✺

As the weeks went by, Harry was incredibly grateful for Charlotte’s company throughout the days. She would come to Hartfield almost every other day, and Harry would have a nice companion to talk with. They did their needlework together, read books that Mr. Tomlinson would recommend, and after 10 pages of reading said books they would go for a stroll outside walking arm in arm. She was exactly the type of friend he needed with Sarah’s departure.

Mr. Winston even started calling at Hartfield almost twice a week, eager to spend his time talking with them after conversing with Mr. Warwick. Harry wasn’t used to having the vicar be so attentive to Hartfield, but he had to admit his liveliness added entertainment to their small group. And he had heard that Mr. Winston was also calling on the Clarks frequently, so if he needed another excuse to see Charlotte, Harry was more than happy to provide the place for it.

“Mr. Harry,” Mr. Winston began after they finished a walk around the gardens. “Do you draw? I just had a letter from a friend in Bath, and he was remarking about how accomplished young carriers from there are. And I replied saying that we have many accomplished carriers in Highbury, particularly of Mr. Harry Styles.”

He did, in fact, draw. Harry liked to take up hobbies now and then, and drawing had been one of his fancies a few summers ago. He didn’t think he was particularly good, but it was fun to pass the time with. “You flatter me, sir,” Harry laughed airily. “For you have never seen my drawings to make a conclusion like that.”

“Then may I see them? I plan to give a full account of them in my next letter, which I’m sure my friend would want after he reads my reply.”

Harry had them brought down, and the three of them stood around the table as Harry laid out his artwork. He had quite forgotten that he had made these in the first place, but he liked to reminisce over earlier times as he looked at them. There was a portrait done of Zayn and Liam before their wedding, a drawing of baby Marianne, a mother cat with her kittens. He smiled once he saw Mr. Tomlinson’s portrait among them, almost fully drawn with coloring done as well.

“Your drawings… are exquisite,” Mr. Winston remarked with such wonder. “You are truly an accomplished carrier, Harry.”

“Do you think so?” Harry murmured. “While I may not remember when exactly I painted them, I will say that the subjects were my harshest critics.” Mr. Tomlinson in particular did not refrain from blunt comments, but Harry didn’t mind. He always expected honesty from him.

“Well they should have never criticized such brilliance!”

Harry laughed as he went to pour himself another cup of tea. As he watched the vicar lean over towards Charlotte while they looked at his drawings, he remembered of their first meeting at Randalls. Charlotte seemed to be smitten once they were introduced, as Mr. Winston was charming as well. But they hadn’t been in the same company lately, which made Harry wonder if some prodding was needed to see where their affections lay.

“Charlotte?” he asked, an idea sparking in his head. “Have you ever had your likeness taken?”

“My likeness? Not that I remember,” she laughed gingerly. “My mother would never pay for such a thing.”

“What do you think of a drawing of Charlotte, Mr. Winston?” he mused with an arched brow. “Should I draw her likeness? Or should I choose another subject?”

“Her likeness!” he gasped. “Yes! You must do that, Harry. Only you can bring her to life on paper with your skills.”

He must’ve really liked her if he was saying all this, Harry thought to himself. Well, at least he had a new project to take on.

And it was settled then. They went to the garden to set up, with the servants bringing along Harry’s paint sets as he set up the scene near one of the large oak trees. Charlotte ended up standing a few feet away under a flower arch that Harry had brought out, holding a book in one hand and a random flower in the other. He had her lean against the tree, having her look like she was peacefully reading instead of looking at him while he drew. Once he was satisfied with her pose, he backed away and started to draw on his blank canvas.

“Oh, Mr. Harry,” Mr. Winston said after a while. “You have given Miss Charlotte… such beauty. The way you have drawn her eyes and the background! Like here,” he reached over and pointed to the pines in the back, “they are so pronounced even without having color yet. And Miss Charlotte’s stature… she had beauty from nature, but you have elevated it on a heavenly level. Your skills are unmatched.”

Harry frowned as he looked at the canvas. He had only begun to draw her head and nothing more, with the lines from his pencil barely forming a shape. The trees were just graphite marks in the back which weren’t anywhere near looking like the final product yet. “You are over exaggerating, Mr. Winston,” he laughed as he leaned back. “You shall be a proper judge once I am finished.”

“I speak the truth,” the vicar said simply.

“Well when I did my drawings of my brother and his family,” Harry said as he continued to draw Charlotte, “his husband tried to be nice about the finished portrait, but I knew he found faults in it. So I resolved to give up drawing when married people are present,” he said with a sigh.

“Then you should be thankful that there are no married people in this case,” Mr. Winston said. “Or should I say, at present.”

Harry glanced over his canvas as he shared a look with Charlotte, who was trying to hide a smile.

As Mr. Winston walked around once more away from them, Harry took the time to go to Charlotte. “I think he might have feelings for you,” he whispered as he fixed her dress sleeves. “He wouldn’t stop talking about how beautiful you looked!”

“Do you think so?” Charlotte whispered back. “I wouldn’t like to get my hopes up.”

“Did you not hear his remark about married people? I’m sure that was directed at you!”

“Can you be sure?”

“Charlotte,” he said, “in all my time as a matchmaker, if there is one thing I know how to tell as a matchmaker is when men are interested in finding a mate. And I can tell that Mr. Winston is looking for one. Not to say that he was a harsh man to begin with, but I’ve never seen his manners so soft after almost two years of being in Highbury. Someone has changed this in him, and I think it’s you.”

By the end of the day, Harry was satisfied with how the portrait turned out. With the colorings he used, Charlotte looked like she was spending a day out on a beautiful summer day, reading her book in all its natural splendor. Harry added some wild animals at her feet as well, with a small rabbit and squirrel painted next to her. With the added color, he thought this was definitely one of his best works he’s done in a long time.

“You should have this framed!” Mr. Winston exclaimed as Harry presented it to him. “And I should be the one to bring it to London!”

“To London?” Harry said. “Is that really necessary? My brother and his husband will be visiting at Christmas, and they can take it back to London to get framed when they go home. There is no need for you to trouble yourself, Mr. Winston.”

“But your brother will not arrive for many weeks, Mr. Styles! No, this work of art must be framed immediately, and I insist that I take it to London myself. Tomorrow morning at first light I shall! Such a masterpiece cannot be delayed in its preservation.”

Harry looked over at Charlotte, excitement clear in both their eyes. It was very clear why the vicar was so interested in having it framed, and who was Harry to deny him the pleasure of pleasing his potential wife. “Very well. I will send you home with it and you will ride over to London in the morning.”

“I could have no higher honor,” Mr. Winston said with a deep bow, “than to serve you. And you as well, Miss Clark.”

And as much as Harry doubted that, he let him continue his pleasantries. He only had to stand him a bit longer until supper was ready, and he would be leaving by then, and then he could talk with Charlotte by himself. If this afternoon wasn’t proof enough that Mr. Winston was in love with her, Harry couldn’t think what else could be. Charlotte would be married by the end of the year, and Harry would have another successful match under his belt, and another one that Mr. Tomlinson could deny.

✺

Louis sat at his desk in his study, going over more plans for some tenants. Even though planting season was long gone, and harvesting had just begun, he still encouraged his farmers to buy their seed out of season to have for the next, when it would be cheaper. He knew not many estate owners would be so involved with their tenant’s affairs, but Louis liked to think he was a fair and honest one, hoping to better their lives instead of simply leaving them to make profits on their own.

“Mr. Tomlinson?” the housekeeper said with a knock to his open door. “Mr. Heyer is here to see you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jennings,” he said without looking up, finishing a letter before putting down his quill. “Send him in.” He heard footsteps after a while and saw the young man walk up to his desk.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tomlinson,” Mr. Heyer said as he took off his hat. “I hope I am not bothering you.”

“Not at all,” Louis smiled, beckoning him to the chair. “Do sit down, lad.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said as he sat.

“So what do I owe this sudden visit?” It wasn’t often that his tenants visited Donwell. Not that he forbade them, but he was always the one to call on their houses if he needed to speak with them. He wondered what was so urgent that Mr. Heyer couldn’t wait for his weekly visit to Abbey Mill Farm.

“I plan on adding another wing to the main house,” he explained as he pulled out some plans for the house. “And I wanted your approval on the plan.”

“Another wing? Well let me see.” Louis looked over the papers, inspecting the finer details as he moved a spectacle glass over it. “I think it looks splendid. Do you not think you should wait a few years, though? I don’t think you really need to expand your house just yet. You already have two very good parlors.”

Mr. Heyer shook his head. “I would like to make the house larger as soon as I can.”

Louis slightly frowned. “Why?” In all the years that he had known Mr. Heyer, Louis had known him to be a sensible and rational man. Such an addition to their house would take time, and seeing that Peter was already running the farm by himself as it was, he didn’t see the point of adding another wing when his sisters and mother were living there comfortably as it was.

The younger man seemed to be fishing for the right words to say. “I was wondering if I could be so bold as to ask your advice.”

“My advice on something besides this?” he nodded towards the papers.

“On marriage. I want to expand my house because,” he sighed. “I would like to propose to Charlotte Clark.”

Oh. Well that was good reason enough. “The new merchant’s daughter?” He hadn’t realized that they were close. But unlike Harry, he didn’t keep up with the happenings of Highbury. There was no doubt in Louis’ mind that his friend already knew of their attachment.

Mr. Heyer nodded. “I met her over the summer, and she has never left my mind since. Every time we speak I feel as if I am speaking to an old friend instead of one that I have only known for a few months. Despite our difference in incomes, we have a lot in common, and I think I could make her very happy should she accept me. Which is why I want to expand the house and make it suitable for her to live in with my family.”

Ah, what love does to young men. “Well,” Mr. Tomlinson smiled. “I see no reason to delay it. I think you’re better off waiting a few years since you’re young, but if you’ve already found the one you want to spend the rest of your life with, there shouldn’t be anything to stop you.”

The younger man smiled wide. “Thank you, sir!” he cried as he nearly jumped from his chair. “I shall be ordering the supplies for my project this very day, and in the evening I shall write to Charlotte to ask for her hand.”

Louis was no expert in marriage, but he at least thought it should be done in person. No matter, every relationship was different and if Ms. Clark truly cared for him she would accept him in any way he proposed. “I assume she feels the same as you do, Mr. Heyer, so I do not think I am premature in giving you my congratulations already.”

“Thank you, sir,” he beamed as he shook his hand. “Now I must be off! I have no time to lose and you have been most helpful, Mr. Tomlinson, as you always are.”

The man left with a bounce in his step as he walked away from Donwell, and Louis couldn’t help but feeling a bit proud that he had encouraged a match. But he didn’t want to admit it, or else he would be empathetic to the very thing he scolds Harry for, and he wouldn’t want him to be thinking he was right any time soon. So Louis busied himself with more papers, content that he had done a good deed and needed to focus on others instead.

✺

Harry’s drawing was sent to London with Mr. Winston. The vicar had sent a note to Hartfield letting them know that he would be on his way to the capital by the time they read it, and Harry was incredibly pleased. Mr. Winston had family in London from what Harry had heard, at least a mother and sister who lived there. Who is to say that he will not be showing Charlotte’s portrait to them as a sign of his love? The very thought of it was so romantic.

A day after he left, Harry was already planning a dinner to be held once Mr. Winston returned, and he expected Charlotte to be elated at the news. What he didn’t expect was for her to arrive unannounced to Hartfield as she stood in the foyer, face streaked with tears as she struggled to talk while he rushed down the stairs.

“Charlotte?” He gasped. “What has happened?”

“May we speak somewhere private?” She asked, lip trembling as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Yes of course!” he hurried, guiding her towards one of the private studies and quickly shutting the doors behind him.

With her hair all ruffled under her bonnet, and face so fallen, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her as he went to sit next to her by the fire.

“Oh Mr. Harry!” Charlotte wailed as she collapsed on his shoulder. “My parents-they,” she let out another sob.

“What happened?” Harry asked earnestly. Was someone ill?

“They won’t allow me to marry him!”

Harry’s eyes widened. Had Mr. Winston proposed already? “Who?”

“Mr. Heyer!”

Oh. “He proposed?”

“Yes!” she cried, thrusting a piece of paper into his hands that she took out from her cloak. “He sent me a letter this morning where he asked for my hand. I was ready to accept and told my parents, but my mother said I had to refuse him! Just because he’s a farmer!”

Harry looked over the letter as Charlotte cried on his shoulder, noting that it was a good letter. He wondered if his sisters might have helped write it, judging from the penmanship. But it was still a good letter and one that Charlotte should feel honored to receive.

“They think Mr. Winston will make me an offer after all the times he’s called!” she sniffed.

“I see,” Harry said. “So you’re sure you’re in love with Mr. Heyer and not Mr. Winston?”

“Oh yes!” she cried out. “I did not know Mr. Heyer has such tender feelings for me, but I knew I have had them for a long time towards him. I have never felt that way towards Mr. Winston, despite his advances.”

Well that ship has sailed for Mr. Winston then. Harry hoped he wouldn’t have too much of a broken heart once he realized Charlotte did not love him back.

“It’s my mother!” she continued. “She thinks because we have money now that we are above farmers, when she comes from a family of farmers! Her grandfather was one! How could she deny me something like this?”

The fact that Mrs. Clark was a daughter of a farmer came as a surprise to Harry, since her manners were that of a spoiled rich woman. She must have done everything she could to rid herself of her old life. And Charlotte was paying the price of that. “Oh I’m sorry, my friend,” Harry said he said solemnly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I wish you could have their permission to marry.”

“I shall be disinherited if I marry Peter,” she sniffed. “And I don’t think I can find a way to love Mr. Winston. My mother begged and begged me to consider him so that he could propose instead, but I do not see it. We are not made for each other.”

At least Harry now knew that he shouldn’t be allowing Mr. Winston’s visits as often if Charlotte did not want him. Which was easy to do in fact, since he did not want to be spending all that time around him. He simply tolerated him for Charlotte’s sake.

“If you say so,” Harry said gently. “Would you like to stay for the rest of the evening? Mr. Tomlinson will not be joining us as he has a prior engagement, but Cook is making his favorite venison soup and I think you will like it.”

Charlotte smiled sadly. “Thank you, Harry. I would love to stay for dinner.”

“I think it best if we try to forget it for now,” Harry said as he stood up. “Come, one of the dogs gave birth last week and I go play with her puppies all the time. Will you like that as a distraction?”

“Puppies?” she laughed. “Oh who can say no to puppies?”

And Harry spent the rest of the evening trying to cheer Charlotte up. He might have thought Mr. Winston was the perfect man for her, but now he had his mind set on making sure that she could eventually marry Mr. Heyer. So while Charlotte conversed with Mr. Warwick over supper, Harry’s mind was swimming with ideas on how to get them together with her mother’s approval, but he felt himself slightly deflated when he thought of nothing that could reasonably work. He’d just have to think harder.

✺

“Did you hear about Charlotte?”

“I did,” Louis sighed. Mr. Horan had come to tell him the news yesterday, and Louis found himself disappointed in the failed prospect. “I even encouraged Mr. Heyer to propose to her after he came looking for advice a few days ago. He seemed so in love and even though I said he didn’t have to rush into marriage given his age, he still decided to ask her.”

He made his daily walk to Hartfield, taking a walk with Harry along the fields before the sun went down. The evenings were growing colder, but his heavy navy overcoat kept him warm while Harry liked to walk in his wool shawls, content even in the chill.

“Well I do think it was a bit soon,” Harry said. “She said she loves him, but they have not known each other for very long?”

Mr. Tomlinson shrugged. “I agree, but they must have corresponded over letters. You should have heard the way Peter talked of her.”

“I suppose,” Harry said. “Though when it comes to social standing, Mr. Winston would make a better choice like her parents think.”

“They are tradesmen, Harry. Charlotte would do well with wealthy farmers like the Heyers.”

“I am all for her choosing her husband, but her and Mr. Winston wouldn’t make a bad match,” he said simply.

“You and your matchmaking,” Louis huffed.

“I’m not saying what Charlotte should do or not,” Harry began. “But I think giving Mr. Winston a chance wouldn’t be so bad. He seems to really like her. But I know she does not care for him, so I will not push her there. I have resolved to find ways to allow her to marry Mr. Heyer, and I shall not stop until her parents give their consent.”

“At least we can agree on that,” Louis sighed. “But do you really believe Mr. Winston planned to throw himself away like that?”

Harry looked over at him, stepping over a log that was on the path. “What do you mean?”

“I will tell you that when Mr. Winston is among gentlemen and not carriers, he talks as if he knows he is handsome. How wealthy carriers of a family in Bath always write letters, possibly seeking a proposal from him. Know this, he will not make a prudent match.”

“Really?” Harry frowned. “How strange. Then why does he pay his attentions to Charlotte?”

“Because even if he is a man of the church, that doesn’t make him an angel among us. He probably enjoys leading Charlotte on like that until he sets himself for Bath, and then he will leave her heartbroken.”

“But what if he does intend to marry her?”

“Then why hasn’t he asked her yet? I’m sure you have made it possible that they were left alone plenty of times, so it’s not as if he hasn’t had the chance!”

Harry paused in thought. “Well, Mr. Winston and Charlotte had been left alone for a reasonable amount of time – by my own doing – and yet nothing had come of it. Perhaps he wants to know if his feelings are returned before he asks, since she is a shy girl and isn’t the sort to trifle with a man’s feelings. And who can blame him when we now know that she does _not_ return his feelings?”

“We shall have to see then,” Louis said. “And see who he does end up proposing to. But I would put my wager on girls from Bath for sure.”

“I would only want him to court Charlotte if he truly loves her, but because he sees Ms. Clark as nothing more than a distraction until he can set his eyes on other carriers… no. I do not wish that for my friend. She deserves a man far better than that. Which I guess will be Mr. Heyer.”

“And we can agree with that as well,” Louis replied. “If what you say is true and Winston did have his heart set on Charlotte – which I doubt – then I hope he is not too sullen once he sees her love for Mr. Heyer, if he actually cares.” He doubted that Mr. Winston actually cared for her, and it was instead a figment of Harry’s vivid imagination. Still, Louis was not spending almost every day in the presence of them both, so he would have no way to verify his own thoughts. He just knew what Mr. Winston had said before in his presence, and he would be incredibly surprised if the carrier who had his heart turned out to be Charlotte Clark. He’ll only know if Winston goes to Bath, as he said he would if his conquest failed. It was only a matter of time before they would know.

✺

“Mr. Winston has come back with your portrait!” Harry cried out as Charlotte arrived at Hartfield. “Come see as he reveals it!”

The vicar has arrived just a quarter of an hour prior, with a deep bow and sending Harry’s servants to go fetch the portrait from the carriage. Mr. Winston offered to reveal it to him right then, but Harry knew he wanted to wait for Charlotte so they could see it together. So while he insisted on waiting for her and Mr. Winston was preparing in the study, Harry was eagerly waiting for Charlotte to walk through the front door.

“How exciting!” Charlotte said as she rushed to take off her bonnet. They walked into the room just as Mr. Warwick and Mr. Tomlinson were walking in, deep in conversation over what Harry could only assume was something boring about farming.

“Good evening, gentlemen!” Mr. Winston said brightly. “Please join us as I reveal the marvelous piece of art Mr. Styles produced last week, and prove how it must properly be displayed.”

“Of course,” Mr. Warwick said as he took a seat. Louis walked over near Harry, lingering behind as the carrier stood next to Charlotte.

There was a large white cloth hanging over the portrait in the middle of the room, as everyone waited for the vicar to reveal it. “Behold!” Mr. Winston exclaimed. He took the cloth off and flung it in the direction of one of the maids. “The work of Mr. Harry Styles!”

Charlotte looked beautiful painted against the tree in full colors. The picture was framed in a carved, wooden frame that was painted a light pink color. Small golden flowers adorned the edges, and it looked very expensive judging by the engravings of tiny angels along it as well. “You certainly spared no expense, Mr. Winston,” Harry smiled.

“You made her too tall, Harry,” Mr. Tomlinson said as he stared. Harry wanted to groan. He knew he would find fault in it somehow.

“Not too tall!” Mr. Winston replied. Harry gave a small smile at the encouragement.

“It’s very pretty,” Mr. Warwick said. “But you should have put a shawl around her, my dear. If people saw this it would encourage them to not wear proper clothing outside.”

“But Grandpapa,” Harry explained in a huff. “She is standing outside in the summer. There is no need for a shawl!”

“And look at the way Mr. Harry managed to draw those wonderful trees in the scorching summer while the subject stands in the cool shade,” Mr. Winston said. “Just look at the way those pines stand!”

At least Mr. Winston seemed to find no fault in his portrait, and since Charlotte looked completely satisfied, that was all that mattered.

Later they were in the drawing room as they walked Charlotte and Mr. Winston left. After Charlotte received a note urging her home, the vicar asked if he could escort her home, which left Harry surprised but Charlotte easily accepted. He had no plans to push them together again, but it was very clear that Mr. Winston was still interested in her. Hopefully Charlotte ease his pain once she told him of her true feelings.

“Are you now convinced that he likes her?” Harry said as they stared out the window, watching them walk away.

“Not entirely,” Mr. Tomlinson replied.

“Oh, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry huffed. “What am I to do with you?”

“Listen would be in your best interest, dear Harry,” Louis said.

Harry rolled his eyes. Mr. Tomlinson might be older, but Harry knew what he was doing. At least… he thought he did.


	2. Winter

It was a cold November morning when Harry decided to call on Mrs. Smith and her seven children. He knew Mr. Winston made weekly visits to them, like all poor families in the vicarage, but Harry liked to give his attentions to the larger families that needed the most help. So, armed with multiple baskets filled with fresh meats, tangy cheeses, sweet jellies, and a variety of crisp vegetables, Harry and Charlotte set off to deliver them.

“What did Mr. Heyer say when you declined his offer, Charlotte?” Harry asked as they walked along the path to the cottages. “Was he very disappointed?”

“Oh he was,” Charlotte sniffed, hoisting her baskets up again as they started to fall from one arm. “I asked to see him by our oak tree – the one we used to meet by over the summer - and explained that it was my mother’s doing, not because I did not return his feelings. He seemed downcast but understanding. He then asked if he could start to write me letters, not by post but by leaving them in a branch of our tree so I could pick it up whenever I walked to town.”

At least this Mr. Heyer was a romantic. “And did you agree?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said with a shy smile. “I shall write to him. One day I will find a way for my mother to see that I would be the happiest with Mr. Heyer, but until then there will be nothing stopping my correspondence with him.”

“I am glad,” Harry smiled. He thought he would do the same if he ever loved someone that was forbidden to him.

Mrs. Smith was elated when she saw them at the door, welcoming them in as they put the baskets on the table. Since her husband passed away a few years ago, the poor widow was left to raise their six children by herself, and Harry couldn’t help but feel kindred to her children, understanding how it felt to lose a parent so young. He barely remembered his own mother, with her kind eyes and laughter somewhere in the far distance of his memory, but despite the warmth he grew up with his grandfather and his brother, he still wished he could’ve gotten to know her better. At least to remember her by.

After arranging all the food on the table, making sure all the children had something to eat, and warming up the soup over the fire, Harry smiled to see that most of his work was done. He looked around the room to make note of what else he should bring on his next visit, mentally taking down a list to give to Mr. Tomlinson as well.

“I shall come next week and bring some new clothes for them to wear,” Harry explained while holding the youngest in his arms, who was currently twirling one of his curls in between her little fingers. “Mr. Tomlinson said he was going to bring an entire sack full of winter clothes for you and the children in the next few days and I shall bring it on my next visit if he does not.”

“You are too kind to us, Mr. Styles,” Mrs. Smith said with a grateful smile. “And thank you for coming as well, Miss Clark,” she turned to Charlotte, who was feeding a fruit to one of the children. “I am glad to see a new face in Highbury that is so generous.”

“I shall ask my father if we have anything to send here as well,” Charlotte smiled as she got up from her seat. “We used to give to all sorts of charities in London, so I am glad to meet families here that could use our help.”

“Well I thank you both,” Mrs. Smith said. “Very thankful.”

Once they felt that everything was in place, Harry and Charlotte left the house while waving goodbye to the children and their mother, walking back in the direction of Hartfield with their empty baskets in hand.

“It feels good knowing we helped Miss Smith and her children today. Families as privileged as us should help those in need,” Harry said, the cold air leaving his lips. “That’s what Mr. Tomlinson always reminded us as we grew up, always help the poor when you can.”

Charlotte nodded. “My father taught us the same, as his father came from almost nothing. It is nice to know people are so kind in Highbury,” Charlotte said. “I was afraid the landed gentry would be too snobbish for my taste, but you have turned out to be nothing like that, Harry.”

“Well I don’t blame you for that,” Harry laughed. He had heard from Mr. Tomlinson that families in the nearby towns were not known to be generous, judging from what their tenants said. He liked knowing Highbury was kind to all its residents, no matter their circumstance.

They arrived back at Hartfield a quarter of an hour later, Harry feeling like he needed to change his shoes from all the walking.

“I shall go give these to cook,” Charlotte said, rushing away to the kitchens with all the baskets. Harry nodded as he shrugged off his jacket and gave it to Bartholomew, who was standing off to the side. There was a ring at the door just as he was going to follow her, so he stayed while Charles answered it, needing to see whoever was calling.

“Mr. Winston,” Harry greeted with a smile, watching the vicar step inside, taking off his hat as he did. “How kind of you to call on us!” He wondered if he knew Charlotte was visiting Hartfield as well.

“Well I was in the area on some parish business and I thought I would call on you,” Mr. Winston smiled.

Ah, what a perfect time to discuss Charlotte and all they did in the morning. “Charlotte just went to the kitchens,” Harry pointed in the general direction. “We went to visit Mrs. Smith and Charlotte was an absolute angel as she took great care of the family. You should have seen her!”

“What noble carriers you both are,” Mr. Winston replied with a grateful smile. “But um. Well Mr. Warwick said you are compiling a book of poems?”

Harry slightly frowned. “Yes? We started our romantic collection about a week ago, putting together different snippets of passages that we adore and arrange them in the book.” He didn’t know Grandpapa would tell Mr. Winston so quickly about it, but it was nice to know he was so attentive to their news.

“Well. Would you mind if I gave you one?”

“That you wrote yourself?”

“Yes,” the vicar laughed, his eyes crinkling. “I do not consider myself a poet of any sorts, but I tried my best as an amateur can achieve.” He fished out a small paper from his pocket and offered it forward.

“Ah,” Harry said as he took it. A poem! And most likely a romantic one. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that it was for Charlotte. “Wouldn’t you like to give it directly to Miss Clark then?”

“Oh,” Mr. Winston said with a slight frown. “No I believe it is safe with you. For I cannot stay any longer and must go on some business in the village.”

“Well thank you, Mr. Winston,” Harry said with a nod. Mr. Winston must be very shy in the ways of love, not knowing how to act in front of Miss Clark if he would have given it to her himself. No matter, Harry would smooth the way. He waited until the man was shown out and then ran to the sitting room where Charlotte must be waiting for him by now. And sure enough she was, happily sitting there once he made his way in.

“Look what Mr. Winston just gave me!” He said as he went to sit next to her.

“He was here?”

“Yes but he had to rush off,” Harry huffed, waving the piece of paper in front of them. “But look at this poem he gave me to put in our book!”

“He said it was for our poem book?” Charlotte asked with a frown.

Harry nodded, handing her the paper so she could read it aloud.

_My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,  
Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.  
Another view of man, my second brings,  
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!_

_But ah! united, what reverse we have!  
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown;  
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,  
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone._

_Thy ready wit the word will soon supply,  
May its approval beam in that soft eye!_

“Oh my. He speaks of courtship?” Charlotte gasped. “To me?”

“I believe so!” Harry said. “But you do not feel the same, correct? Or do you?” Ever since her debacle with Mr. Heyer, Harry wasn’t sure where her feelings lay exactly, and there could have been a possibility of Mr. Winston actually succeeding in softening her heart towards him.

“I…” she trailed off, brows knitted together. “I don’t think so. I do not feel the same way as I do when I look at Mr. Heyer while looking at Mr. Winston. I know my mother would prefer me to marry the vicar, but I cannot find it in myself to love him so. No matter the lovely poems he writes me,” she sighed, putting the poem down in her lap.

“I see,” Harry nodded. Well there was no reason to allow Mr. Winston to think he had a chance with her. When Harry had the chance, he must inform Mr. Winston of Charlotte’s actual feelings. Before he fell too hard for her. It was the least Harry could do for him, after all.

✺

December came around, which meant the holiday season was upon them. And that meant that Liam and Zayn would come with their family to Hartfield to stay for the Christmas, and Mr. Warwick couldn’t have been more delighted. Harry smiled to himself when he saw his grandfather eagerly circle the date in his calendar a few weeks prior. They made sure to order more than enough food to accommodate them, and prepare the kitchens and dining room for a Christmas feast. Harry also made sure the children’s favorite desserts were to be prepared, as well as their rooms in the house. And lo and behold, the day had finally come to welcome them to Hartfield.

“They are here, Harry!” Mr. Warwick called from the stairs. “Come quick!”

Harry put down his embroidery before he ran to his mirror to see if he looked presentable and rushed down the stairs, watching from the door as the carriage pulled up. He bounced on his toes as he watched the footman open the door, and out came a child.

“Uncle Harry!” a girl yelled with excitement as she barreled into his arms.

“Marianne!” he laughed. She was the second of their children, but the first girl of the brood. She had dark mahogany hair that liked to curl itself in parts, and almond colored eyes that shined when she smiled. From what Zayn said in his letters, she liked to spend the days outside with her governess, not having her care for her books and instead wanting to recite plays she had made up and used her siblings as actors in. Zayn often said he would be told the twins were missing only to find them in the garden with makeshift hats and swords while Marianne marched them along.

“Hello, Uncle Harry!” came the next child while the girl went to greet Mr. Warwick.

“James,” Harry laughed as he took him in his arms, kissing both his cheeks. James was the eldest and heir to everything his parents had, which included Donwell Abbey if Louis never married. Which Harry assumed wouldn’t happen, so James was as good as the owner of the property already. While James looked mostly like Liam, his demeanor was more like Zayn. He liked to spend his time in books and kept to himself, but he was still a delight to have around in gatherings. “You get taller and taller every day!” Harry exclaimed as he pulled him into a tight hug. “I remember when I held you in my arms the day you were born, and yet here you are almost at my height.”

For the birth of his first child, Zayn had decided to come back to Highbury instead of entering his internment in London, much to Mr. Warwick’s delight back then. That meant Harry was there from the first moment baby James took his first breath and got to be the one to show Liam his first child while Zayn rested. At the time it had brought back that semblance of a feeling of wanting his own children as well, but Harry quickly buried it.

“I am not your height yet, silly,” James giggled, giving his uncle another hug.

The rest of the children stepped out with their nannies in tow, and finally Harry was able to catch a glimpse of his brother.

“Grandpapa!” Zayn smiled as he came out of the carriage, cleaning off the dust from his red jacket, taking one of the twins from the nanny. He looked well, in a dark blue velvet riding coat and white gloves. Back when Liam was courting him, he used to give Zayn pretty gifts in abundance, which Zayn always said he didn’t need but secretly liked. So it was no surprise that even years into their marriage, Zayn was still adorned in pretty gifts from his husband.

“My Zayn!” Mr. Warwick exclaimed, hugging him. “And my beautiful grandchildren.”

“Great grandchildren,” Harry corrected as he bounced the other toddler, Louisa, on his hip. Baby Henry was sleeping in one of the nannies arms, so it was best to not disturb him.

“Don’t make me feel more old than I already am, Harry,” Mr. Warwick laughed, giving a kiss to Arthur as the boy giggled.

“How are you, brother?” Zayn said as he hugged Harry, taking Louisa from his arms. “Everything well?”

“Very well,” Harry said warmly, tickling Louisa’s chin as she rested her head on her father’s shoulder. “You are missed as usual.”

“I always miss you and Grandpapa,” Zayn sighed. “It feels good to be back at Hartfield.”

“We shall catch up more when we’re able to be alone,” Harry said in a low voice, looking over his brother’s shoulder to see his husband walking towards them. “Hello, Liam!” Harry greeted. “How are you?”

“Very well, dear brother,” Liam grinned as he hugged him. “I am glad to spend Christmas in Highbury yet again, more so for the children to enjoy a country Christmas.”

“And we are most welcome to have you all,” Harry laughed, looking over to see how happy Mr. Warwick was. “Come! Let us settle you in before supper.”

As Liam and Zayn went to their rooms, Harry helped the children into theirs. There was plenty of room for each child to have their own room, but everyone knew they preferred to sleep in pairs. James and Marianne were in their room - which they asked to be near baby Henry’s room - while the toddlers played in their own room. Since there was time before dinner, the older siblings decided to explore the house with toddlers in their arms, and when Harry finally found them in one of the libraries, they chose to play hide and seek together throughout the house, hollering at each other once they were found in the oddest places. In all, Harry was incredibly happy to have the screaming laughter of children in the halls of Hartfield once again.

But once dinner was ready, it was quite troublesome to get the younger ones to bed and the eldest to dress for the occasion. Just as Harry put a tired Arthur to bed, he saw Marianne run out of the room with Louisa in her arms, both of them laughing as Harry called for them. He would’ve gone after them, but he needed to check on James first, knowing he probably wasn’t ready. He walked next door and knocked. “James? Are you done dressing?”

“I am, Uncle Harry,” James said as he opened the door. He stood there in a nice black frock, a mini white cravat against his neck. With the same colored curls as Liam and sharp cheekbones of Zayn, he looked absolutely adorable standing there looking like a little gentleman. It almost made Harry emotional to think he and Zayn were once that small, and now Zayn was old enough to have his own grown children. Time really passed in fast waves. “How do I look?”

“You look wonderful, James,” Harry smiled. “So handsome like your parents. Is Marianne in her dinner dress? I hadn’t bothered to look when she stole Louisa from me.”

James shook his head. “Her dress is still in her trunk over there.”

“Of course,” Harry sighed. “I know your parents are already waiting downstairs. How about-”

“Uncle Louis! Uncle Louis!” came Louisa’s little voice, and Harry looked down the hallway to see her running to her uncle, with Marianne not far behind.

Harry watched as they barreled into Mr. Tomlinson’s arms, face grinning with pride as he held them while he knelt, holding them close. Harry kept this to himself, but he knew Louis would make a wonderful father someday, just by the way he was around their nieces and nephews. He just didn’t know who the carrier of his children would be, and maybe something in him didn’t want to know when he thought about it more. All he knew was that Mr. Tomlinson deserved to be a father, because those children would be the luckiest in existence.

“Hello, my darlings,” Mr. Tomlinson laughed as he gave them tight hugs. “How are you all?”

“We’ve missed you!” Marianne said as she kissed his cheek.

“Chocolates?” Louisa asked with round eyes, looking up at him.

“Is that all your uncle is for you?” Harry laughed as he hoisted the little girl in his arms. “Just to give you sweets?”

“Uncle Louis always brings us sweets,” Marianne laughed, “and you always let us braid your hair!”

Ah, their hair braiding days. Ever since Marianne was a toddler, Harry loved braiding her hair, making her giggle whenever he would stick random things in it to adorn. Eventually she learned to braid hair herself, so Harry and Zayn would often sit there to let her braid their own, enjoying their afternoons when they visited Hartfield. And now that Louisa was around, they had another head to practice on.

“If you get little Louisa to bed within the next five minutes,” Harry said carefully. “I’ll braid both of your heads with flowers from the hot house tomorrow. Understood? I just put little Arthur to bed and he is missing you!”

Both girls gasped as they nodded, scurrying away as they went to their rooms. “Goodnight uncles!” Louisa called from Marianne’s arms.

“And put on your dinner dress, Marianne!” he called after them, watching them fly past James who was already making his way to the stairs.

“Hello, Harry,” Louis smiled warmly. “I see you’re playing both nanny and father very well tonight.”

“Good evening, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry replied. “Even if they are troublesome, I do love them so. At least our brothers will have a few days of help with their brood.”

“That they do,” Mr. Tomlinson smiled, holding out his arm.

“Why are you late?” Harry continued, taking his arm as they went down the stairs together. “When it comes to our brothers I’m surprised you weren’t here to meet them from the carriage.”

“I was with some of my farmers and it went on later than I expected. We discovered some new plans for crop rotation and I couldn’t pull myself from it because I wanted them to start planning as soon as possible and buy out of season. And I had no doubt your grandfather and you would not make our brothers comfortable until I arrived.”

“Ah farming,” Harry said. While he understood the basics of it, he didn’t “Well get ready for dinner. James asked me where you were .”

After dinner, they all sat in the drawing room, talking amongst themselves while Harry walked around the room holding baby Henry, who was falling asleep in his arms. Mr. Tomlinson was standing near Liam’s chair, looking over the crowd as Marianne and James played a game of dice that Louis had gifted them.

“I do wish you came here instead of Bath,” Mr. Warwick said with a huff. “You could’ve attended Mrs. Rowlands wedding!”

“We would’ve loved to attend their wedding, Grandpapa,” Zayn sighed. “But our physician recommended us to go to the sea during the autumn and that was the only time that it best suited Liam to be away from London.”

“Sea air and sea bathing,” Liam nodded. “He said that would be the best remedy for the cold little Louisa was having.”

“Oh but the sea! It’s dangerous and I do not see the benefits. It nearly killed me once!”

And Harry knew once his grandfather got to speaking on that, there was no telling him otherwise.

“Now, please do not speak of the sea!” Harry cried out as he made his way towards them. “Makes me miserable. And envious, since I have never seen it. To think you two have seen it when your poor uncle hasn’t!” he said to James and Marianne, who simply laughed as they listened.

“You’re right,” Mr. Tomlinson nodded as he stood from his seat. “We should speak of another matter. Like how you all have yet to see the new Mrs. Rowland.”

“Ah yes,” Zayn remarked, “how is Sarah doing? Have you often seen her, Grandpapa?”

“Oh, poor Miss Jones,” Mr. Warwick said with a sigh, shaking his head. “I do believe she did not want to leave Hartfield. We have barely seen her since her wedding day.”

“She is Mrs. Rowland now, Grandpapa!” Harry cut in. “And there has only been one day since their marriage that we have not seen her!”

“So I can assume Mrs. Rowland is very happy with her new life as a wife,” Liam said with a smile.

“I do not think so,” Mr. Warwick sighed. “I do miss her in the evenings.”

“Then you should have a whist party soon so we can invite her and Mr. Rowland in the evening,” Harry said.

“And we are going to see her for Christmas Eve!” Mr. Tomlinson said. “We have all been invited to spend our evening at Randalls and we shall have a lovely time there,” he turned to Liam. “Brother, did you bring those books I ordered from the shop in London? I have been meaning to share them with Mr. Warwick and he is most eager to read.”

“I have!” Mr. Payne answered. “Let me fetch them.” And by the look Mr. Tomlinson gave Harry, they both knew it was to get Mr. Warwick’s mind off of missing Sarah. They always did work best as a team when it came to Harry’s grandfather.

After everyone was given a book to muse over, including the children, Harry was the only one left out since he was still carrying Henry in his arms. He didn’t mind, though, happy to rock the sleeping baby as everyone carried on near the fire. As he walked around the room, he decided to walk into the empty sitting room next to them, striding along the windows as baby Henry made a noise in his sleep. He went to sit by the window, gazing out into the cold night. He saw some servants in the distance walking across the field, probably going home to their cottages. He hoped it wasn’t overtly cold, as it would probably start to snow in the coming days, as it always did around the Christmas season.

“How is Henry?”

Harry looked up to see Mr. Tomlinson standing above them, a soft look on his face as he looked at the baby. He looked smart in the black evening coat he had on, with golden buttons adorning the front.

“Just fell asleep,” Harry chuckled, gently holding an arm up to show Henry’s head.

“You look like you were the one who birthed him,” Louis chuckled, hands clasped behind his back.

Harry hated to admit how much that made him blush. Even though he had long given up on marriage, there wasn’t a day he didn’t think about having his own children to care for. Of course that would require a husband in that fantasy, but seeing Zayn with all his children made him yearn for some of his own.

“I think Zayn is perfectly happy in letting me take him for the night compared to his usual schedule,” Harry smiled. “Besides, he’s such a little angel. Hopefully he takes after me.”

“You mean a nosy carrier who doesn’t apply themselves and instead spends their time being an amateur matchmaker that no one asked for?”

Harry narrowed his eyes as he looked at him. “I still believe you are just jealous that you cannot make matches yourself, Mr. Tomlinson. You don’t understand the human nature as I do and would rather chide me for it than praise me.”

“Of course,” Louis scoffed, sitting next to him. “I am eight years older than you but you somehow have more knowledge in the world, or people, than I. What perfect sense you have.”

“I’m glad you agree,” Harry giggled, looking back down at Henry.

“How nonsensical you love to be, Harry,” Mr. Tomlinson sighed, reaching over to smooth the hair on Henry’s head. “Do not be like your namesake, little one.”

“Be far better,” Harry agreed. “And make more matches than your dear uncle ever could.”

Mr. Tomlinson gave him a pointed stare as he shook his head. “Don’t fill the little one’s head with ideas already.”

“How can I?” Harry said as he leaned over to kiss Henry’s head. “When he already will take after me no matter what.”

“Well let us hope he is as pretty as you,” Mr. Tomlinson said. “And nothing else.”

Harry met his gaze as he adjusted the baby in his arms, feeling his cheeks turn slightly hot. “I shall take that as a compliment, Mr. Tomlinson,” he said evenly. “Even if you do not mean it so.”

“You should,” Louis smirked. “Come along, it is late. We should be putting Henry in his cradle.”

Harry nodded as he stood up with the older man. They walked into Mr. Warwick’s sitting room, finding him talking with Zayn by the fireplace.

“Ah there’s Henry,” Zayn smiled as he saw his son. “I was wondering if his father took him upstairs or if he stayed with you.”

“He’s so quiet,” Harry sighed. “I do adore my namesake.”

“You do make perfect children, Zayn,” Mr. Tomlinson smiled. “But I best be leaving now. You should all be going to bed at this hour.”

“I guess you should,” Harry said, looking up at the clock. It was almost midnight.

“Then I shall take him up,” Zayn said as he walked up to his brother and took Henry in his arms. “Oh he is sleeping so well. You are a perfect uncle, Harry.”

“I try my best,” Harry chuckled, kissing Henry’s head once more.

They all bid Zayn goodnight as he left the room with his son. Harry walked over to this grandfather, picking up another blanket to wrap around his shoulders before he went upstairs.

“Will you not stay, Mr. Tomlinson?” Mr. Warwick asked, the worry clear in his voice. “It is too cold to walk out there!”

“Even if it is cold,” Louis replied with a nod. “I am fine walking back to Donwell. The air will do me good so do not worry, Mr. Warwick. I bid you goodnight.”

Mr. Warwick sighed. “Then goodnight, Mr. Tomlinson. Have a safe journey.”

“I’ll show you to the door,” Harry said, walking in front of Louis as they made their way to the foyer. “Are you sure you’d rather not stay?”

Louis nodded, thanking the servants who brought his overcoat and hat. “It is not late and I can make it home safely,” he said after dressing himself, picking up Harry’s bare hand with his gloved one. “I can promise you that,” and quickly kissed the back of his hand.

“Be sure that you do,” Harry replied. He didn’t know why it felt comforting for Mr. Tomlinson to do that, but it did. As they got older and they had to obey the manners of their society, Harry always thought it was funny whenever Louis insisted on kissing his hand. Everything about him was always comforting.

“Goodnight, dear Harry,” Louis said softly.

“Goodnight, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry said, watching him walk away.

✺

Since Liam and Zayn were there for the holiday, it only made sense for every one of their friends to spend Christmas together. And since it was Sarah’s first Christmas as Mrs. Rowland, she invited everyone to Randalls for an evening dinner on Christmas Eve. That is why Harry paid a visit to the Clark’s, hoping to see what Charlotte was going to wear to the event, but was instead met with a coughing Charlotte in bed once he arrived.

“Charlotte!” he gasped once he was allowed into her room. “Are you alright?”

She was underneath the covers of her bed, her sleeping cap still on as her pale face wrinkled with pain. “Oh, Harry!” she gasped, eliciting another cough. “I completely forgot you were coming here!”

“Do not worry yourself!” Harry looked around the room. “What is wrong?”

“I’m always ill at Christmas,” she sniffled. “Doctor Roberts came and saw me, though. It’s just a cold. He recommended I stay in bed for at least a week to recover.”

“Oh dear,” Harry shook his head. “You’ll miss the party at Randalls! And even Mr. Grimshaw, who is finally expected there.”

“I’m sure I won’t be missed,” Charlotte said.

“Of course you will!” Harry said. “You have not had a chance to meet my brother and his husband.”

“I shall try to see them once I am well,” she coughed again. “My mother told me Mr. Winston called today.”

“Really?” Harry smiled. Well, he must be very persistent. And very in love! But how sad that it shall be in vain since Charlotte does not feel the same. “Did he come in to see you?”

“Oh no!” Charlotte gasped. “Even if he wanted to, I wouldn’t let him – or any man – see me in this state! My mother said he called and asked if you were present as well, and once he heard I was sick he immediately left and sent his best wishes.”

“I see,” Harry nodded. Well, maybe Harry would have a chance to tell the vicar that his pursuit of Charlotte would be pointless tomorrow. He thought it was best to let Charlotte rest in the meantime. “Well I shall leave you, and hope that you have a speedy recovery. I will throw a dinner party before the new year so you have another chance to meet the Paynes.” Harry knew there was no chance he would let his brother go back to London without meeting Charlotte.

“Thank you, Harry,” Charlotte smiled before sneezing loudly. “Oh, that hurt my chest. Be sure to tell me every detail about the Christmas party when you visit me again.”

Harry smiled as he nodded, going over to give her a warm embrace before leaving. “I will tell you every second of it. Get well soon, my friend.” And with that he left the Clarks residence.

✺

The next day, Christmas Eve came with all its wonders. Harry spent the day entertaining his nieces, putting flower crowns of holly on their heads as they sang along to Christmas tunes Marianne played on the piano forte. He also spent time with his nephews, letting them pick a book to read for their library and sending them home with it, and did the same when Marianne came to join them. Even if he didn’t have children on his own and probably wouldn’t in the future, he had every right to spoil his brother’s children with an endless supply of laughter and books.

Christmas Eve was to be spent at Randalls as they planned, and most of the house was ready to leave by the evening. Harry was already in the carriage as he waited for Liam to enter, his maroon cape wrapped around him and his hair curled to perfection. And since it was Christmas, he was also wearing a new shirt that was specially ordered for the occasion. Probably too thin for the weather, but it was a delicate lace fabric that opened nicely at the top of his chest. In all, he thought he looked pretty well for the evening. Especially if he was about to meet Mr. Grimshaw for the first time. Zayn decided to ride with Grandpa Warwick, so Harry and Liam were instructed to take the second carriage.

“There you are, brother!” Liam grinned as the door opened and he stepped inside, making sure his beaver hat didn’t hit the top on the way in. “I don’t really understand the need for such parties, but they make my husband happy to socialize here and there, and as long as there is a smile on his face then I shall always be pleased.”

Harry smiled as he nodded his head in agreement. He liked knowing that his brother married someone who was so in love with him even after all these years.

“How have you been, dear brother?” Harry said as they moved down the road. “Everything well in London I hope?”

“Very well indeed,” Liam smiled as he leaned back in his seat. “I love my work, but I always wait for the time of day when I go back home to see Zayn and the children. I feel awful leaving him with them all and the new baby when he deserves to be resting.”

“I would say you should both try to stop producing so many children,” Harry chided. “But I do love my nieces and nephews too much to not want more of them, so carry on.”

“How easy for you to say,” Liam scoffed. “You have none of your own, so you don’t know the pains of raising them so.”

“And that’s why I enjoy being their beloved uncle,” Harry grinned, clasping his hands together. “I get to enjoy them without rearing them as you must.” Thought that didn’t mean he never wanted children of his own, despite his thoughts about not marrying.

“While we are on the subject,” Liam mused. “Have you not thought of marrying and having your own?”

“You know I could never leave Grandpapa like that,” Harry answered. “And I have said before that I have no plans to. I still long to be my nieces and nephew’s favorite uncle and spoil them long into their lives with no children of my own. A man should have to be absolutely exceptional to change my mind of that.”

“Like Mr. Winston?” Mr. Payne offered.

Harry snorted. “What? Mr. Winston the vicar?”

“Yes? Do you claim to be ignorant of his affections towards you?”

He blinked back at him, wondering if he had even heard him right. Mr. Winston had visited them yesterday to welcome the Paynes back to Highbury, and yes the vicar had stayed close with him throughout the evening, but Harry couldn’t fathom how Liam deduced that from their interactions. “I claim to be ignorant because there are no such affections! He has been fancying Charlotte Clark, if there is a carrier to take his fancy. Not me. Though his pursuit will be fruitless, since she does not love him in that way.” He had no problem telling such things to Liam, who wasn’t a gossip and would only tell Zayn at the most.

“If you say so, brother,” Liam laughed. “But I am never wrong about these things. You recall I have pointed out potential couples before which you heartedly agree with.”

Harry tried not to roll his eyes. Yes, Liam had pointed out interest between couples before over the years, but it had always been Harry who succeeded in keeping the couples together through his meddling. Simply noting that a couple had a potential understanding did not mean that he was their cupid. Besides, Liam was simply wrong in this instance. The carriage stopped and Harry looked out the window to see Mr. and Mrs. Rowland standing at the door as they greeted guests.

“Welcome, my friends!” Sarah beamed as she waved to everyone, nodding to Mr. Winston as he stepped in front of her.

“We welcome you to Randalls,” Mr. Rowland said as well.

As Harry exited the carriage, he noticed another carriage that he didn’t see too often was in front of his own, smiling once he realized who it was. “Mr. Tomlinson,” he grinned as said man approached him. He was wearing a navy coat that seemed to make his eyes shine brighter in the night. “I was beginning to think you had no carriage and this one here was just a figment of my imagination.”

“I thought it best to bring it in case others would need it tonight,” Louis explained with a laugh. “Not for my own comfort.”

“Of course not,” Harry said as they walked inside together. He glanced back to see Liam helping Zayn and their grandfather from their carriage.

“Mr. Tomlinson! Mr. Styles! Welcome to Randalls,” Mr. Rowland said as he nodded to them. “It’s such an honor to have your families join us this evening.”

“We wouldn’t dream of spending Christmas with anyone else, Mr. Rowland,” Harry said. “I shall never miss a Christmas to spend with Sarah.”

“And Christmas should always be spent with dear friends,” Mr. Tomlinson nodded, taking off his hat and passing it to the waiting servant while Harry took off his cloak.

With everyone who was invited already arrived, the Rowlands followed Harry into the drawing room, where the rest of the guests were already congregating. Harry smiled as he saw that his grandfather already had a warm seat by the fire, discussing something with Mr. Winston. But as Harry looked around the room and failed to see Mr. Grimshaw, he turned to Mr. Rowland with a question on his face.

“Nick has been detained in Yorkshire, I’m afraid,” Mr. Rowland said to him, seemingly reading his mind. “We received a letter this morning. You may read it if you like.”

Harry frowned, thanking him as he took the letter and stepped into the dining room to read it alone. There was a fireplace already on there as well, so he stood next to it as he read. He couldn’t deny that he was disappointed again to have no meeting with him, but Nick would eventually come for sure. And Mr. Rowland was right, for the letter was very well written and Nick was clearly sorry that he could not attend. Just as Harry was getting to the part where he mentions his aunt saying he must marry a carrier of good fortune, Harry heard a voice behind him.

“Another flourishing letter full of falsehoods?”

Harry rolled his eyes without looking up, still facing the fire. “You seem determined, Mr. Tomlinson, to think ill of him,” he said aloud.

Louis chuckled. “I shall be ready to acknowledge his merits, if they exist, but I have heard of none. So I cannot think highly of him at present, I’m sorry to say.”

“Yet he is not here to provide us with more depth of his character,” Harry quipped, turning around as he folded the letter, “and it is therefore wrong for you to make assumptions like that without having met him. It is better to give him the benefit of the doubt rather than think the worst of him, in my opinion.”

“Well I can think of what others have said of him, and that is that he is handsome and well mannered. That is all. When it comes to his character, the only judgements I have are how he treats Mr. and Mrs. Rowland, and he has done them a great disservice by not coming to meet her. I believe if she was a woman of great consequence, he would have done so by now.”

Harry gasped. “My goodness, Mr. Tomlinson, I cannot believe you. You know very well his aunt keeps him in Yorkshire because she is ill, and that is the reason he has not come to congratulate the new couple!”

Louis shook his head. “I still believe he could have come by now if he wanted. Nothing has been shown to change my opinion on that.”

“Well regardless of your poorly formed opinion, I believe Mr. Grimshaw to be an excellent man,” Harry replied with an artificial smile. “We do not often look upon fine men in Highbury, and he shall be a treasure here once he arrives.”

“Then you will forgive me for being so overpowered,” Mr. Tomlinson huffed, and then walked away.

Dinner was held later on, with Harry sitting next to Mr. Winston, who couldn’t carry on a conversation to save his life. He interrupted Harry on multiple occasions, especially when Harry was trying to listen to what Mr. Rowland was saying. It wasn’t until Mr. Winston asked about Charlotte that Harry was glad to speak to him.

“She is recovering well,” Harry said cheerfully. “Doctor Roberts instructed her to rest.”

“I see,” Mr. Winston nodded, looking down at his soup. “May I suggest something, Mr. Styles?”

“Of course!”

“I implore you to stop visiting her,” he demanded.

Harry put down his spoon as he stared back at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“For your own health!” Mr. Winston explained. “Am I not right, Mr. Tomlinson?”

Louis glanced over at them, breaking his conversation with Mrs. Rowland. “Right on what, Mr. Winston?”

“That Mr. Styles should not be visiting Miss Clark when she is ill! Imagine if he develops a fever because of her. Oh what if it is of putrid infection! For your own health, Mr. Styles, please stay away!”

“I thank you for your concern, Mr. Winston,” Harry replied, slightly embarrassed by the way the rest of the party was now staring at them from his outburst. “But I have a strong disposition and rarely get sick. I shall visit Charlotte as I usually do.” As if he would take Mr. Winston’s advice on who he should be allowed to visit, sick or not.

Thankfully, the rest of the party was eager to make conversation throughout the night, and Harry was listening most attentively when Nick Grimshaw was brought up again.

“Mrs. Grimshaw rules at Enscombe,” Mr. Rowland explained, putting his soup spoon down. “She has declared that if Nick does not marry a carrier of good fortune, he will be cut out entirely from her will. I at least thought her better than that.”

“But are they not wealthy?” Zayn asked as he took a sip of his wine. “Why would it matter if the carrier has money or not if he could easily provide for them both when the time comes?”

“Mrs. Grimshaw most likely doesn’t want some carrier with no fortune to marry Nick for his inheritance,” Mr. Warwick said from the end of the table. “Which, considering who he is, could be a valid concern.”

“Well if Mr. Grimshaw is well liked and has a good fortune,” Mr. Winston said, “then it wouldn’t be a dreadful thing for someone to like both of those factors.”

“It seems that Mrs. Grimshaw likes to control everything her nephew does,” Liam replied. “And I do not understand why he has not visited Highbury yet.”

“It is jealousy,” Sarah said, Harry almost surprised at her directness. “She is jealous of the regard Nick has for his brother, of the love he has here waiting for him, and decides to keep him from us to deprive us all of family.”

“He should be here,” Mr. Tomlinson interjected. “It _is_ his duty.”

“Well if his aunt favors him so,” Harry stated, “that must mean that he is well loved by her. How fortunate Mr. Grimshaw is to be loved by both important families in his life. On one side he has a compassionate brother who would move the world for him, and on the other being a particular favorite of his dear aunt. Since she was childless, her motherly love is simply spent on him.”

“Oh, dear Harry,” Sarah sighed. “Do not use your good nature to understand a bad one. Some people are just meant to be cruel in life.”

Harry took a sip of his wine in response, pondering over the situation as the conversation drifted elsewhere. He didn’t want to admit it, but Mr. Tomlinson was right when he said that Nick had a duty to his brother and sister-in-law. It was his duty to pay his respects, but he could not imagine Mr. Grimshaw of being so… unmannered to forgo his duty. So the only logical conclusion would be that Mrs. Grimshaw is the sole reason he has not been able to come to Highbury, and that was reason enough for Harry. Soon enough he will be proven right when Nick finally visits.

Dinner ended and they all retreated to one the drawing room again, the men talking by the windows as the carriers congregated in the seats by the fire.

“How is London, dear Zayn?” Sarah asked as she passed him a drink.

“Very well,” he replied with a smile. “Liam works long hours during the day but he tries to stay home as much as he can, especially to help with little Henry. When we’re not taking care of the children, we go to a few dinner parties hosted by some friends or to the theater. All in all we have a very happy life there. But I will admit that I miss being here in Highbury.”

“I simply miss having you around,” Harry sighed. “I don’t think I can convince Charlotte to make things to dress the dogs in like we used to.”

Zayn laughed. “We are not children anymore, Harry.”

“No we are not,” Harry giggled. “But I am fond of our memories. Now your children will be creating them on their own as they grow.”

“They actually-”

“It is snowing!” Liam declared as he looked out the window.

“Snow?” Mr. Warwick cried out. “It cannot snow! We shall die! Harry! Zayn!” Harry quickly made his way over to his grandfather with his brother, trying to calm Mr. Warwick while the rest of the party started to talk amongst themselves.

Mr. Tomlinson rushed out of the room, which Harry presumed he went to check outside for himself.

“You can all stay here for the night if it is too dangerous to travel,” Mitch explained.

“Oh we could never impose-”

“It is snowing,” Mr. Tomlinson said once he came back inside, brushing the snow dust off his jacket. “There is no more than two or three inches, but I believe it best if we leave before it settles; so there are no possible carriage problems on the way home.”

The room went into panic then. Everyone was talking at once as they made plans to leave, with Zayn keeping Mr. Warwick close.

“I believe we must leave,” Harry said as he went over to Mitch and Sarah. “I am sorry, but I know Grandpapa will not be satisfied until we are home.”

“We understand, Harry,” Sarah replied with a tired smile. “It would be best if our guests left now to avoid the snow. We would ask you all to stay here, but we only have two guest rooms.”

“I guess it’s a good thing that Nick did not come this Christmas,” Mitch said as he looked at his wife. “It would’ve been cut short and not nearly as enjoyable.”

Harry nodded as the rest of the party started to get their cloaks and coats, thanking Mr. and Mrs. Rowland for the lovely evening, and went off into the night to where their carriages were waiting. Harry followed his brother and grandfather as the snow started falling on their shoulders, with Mr. Tomlinson and Mr. Payne following behind.

“Mr. Warwick and Zayn,” Mr. Tomlinson called from behind, “take my carriage as it is the fastest.”

“Oh thank you, Mr. Tomlinson,” Mr. Warwick said as he climbed in while Zayn followed.

“And you husband?” Zayn asked as he stuck his head out of the window.

“I shall ride with my brother in our other carriage,” Liam said as he leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Do not worry.”

Zayn smiled with a nod and went back inside, just as the horses started to move them forward.

“Harry?” Louis said as he turned to him, snow already sticking to his eyelashes.

“Yes?”

“I know it is rather strange, but do you mind sharing your carriage with Mr. Winston for a ride home?”

“Isn’t Liam riding with me?” Harry asked with a frown.

Mr. Tomlinson shook his head. “No I shall ride with him in your first carriage while you take the second. Even if you both are alone I would trust the town vicar to be civil towards you.”

Harry nodded as he looked back to see Mr. Winston approaching them. “I do not feel as if I am in any danger, Mr. Tomlinson.” If anything, it would be more of an annoyance. Maybe he could take that time to tell Mr. Winston that his pursuit of Charlotte would end in nothing. He watched as the brothers entered their carriage and left, leaving only Harry waiting for his to pull up.

“Good evening, Mr. Styles,” the vicar grinned. “It is an honor to escort you tonight on this wonderful evening.”

“Hm,” Harry smiled, “a very nice evening.”

“Your carriage awaits, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Winston said with a smile, opening the door for him.

Harry simply nodded and climbed inside, going to sit near the farthest window as the vicar sat across from him. They rode along silently at first, Harry looking out the window as he tried not to think of the awkwardness of it all. He was just beginning to think of what Mr. Grimshaw was doing for Christmas when he suddenly heard a cough.

“Mr. Styles,” Mr. Winston said earnestly, “you must allow me to take advantage of this marvelous opportunity.”

“Pardon?” What did he mean as opportunity? Had Mr. Winston been unable to say something to him before?

“You are exquisite!” he cried out. “I simply adore you! I worship you in every way possible and I shall die if you refuse me!”

Harry’s eyes widened with every word, and grew more horrified as he began to understand.

“I-”

“Marry me, Mr. Styles!” the vicar said, leaning over to grab both of Harry’s hands within his own. “Tell me you return my love, and you shall make me the happiest man in all of England!”

“Marry you?” Harry cried out, suddenly feeling nauseous. “Mr. Winston I think you have drunk too much of Mr. Rowland’s wine!”

“Wine? No!” he laughed happily. “I am not drunk in that sense but drunk on your love!”

“You mistake me for my friend, Miss Clark! I always assumed your thoughts were on her and I would be happy to tell her what you think of her, though I do not bode this moment well on your character, sir.”

Mr. Winston laughed. “Ms. Clark? What would I have to do with her? I have never thought of her in any way besides your dearest friend. Who could think of Miss Clark when Mr. Styles is around?”

“What?” Harry said softly, realizing fully what the vicar was saying. He was proposing to him, not Charlotte. His feelings were never towards her. The poem he wrote, the visits to Hartfield, the visits to the Clarks, everything. They had been for Harry this entire time, and thought his feelings were reciprocated, and now he expects him to accept his proposal. Liam was right!

“Allow me to interpret this wonderful silence as proof of your affections,” Mr. Winston said quietly, startling Harry out of his thoughts as he realized he was right next to him. “It confesses that you have long understood me for you cannot be ignorant of my affections towards you.”

“No, sir, it does not!” Harry said, swallowing as he felt his throat dry, standing slightly to rush to the other seat. “I have only seen you as a potential husband for my friend Miss Clark and nothing more! After all your attentions to her how am I to believe you are in love with me?”

“I paid no such attentions to Miss Clark, Mr. Styles.”

“She told me you would often call at her home!”

“To see if you were there! When you weren’t, I simply claimed it was a visit of the vicarage and spent no more than a quarter of an hour there.”

No. No. No. This could not be.

“When I showed you my paintings, sir, you were much enthusiastic when I suggested I paint a picture of Charlotte!”

“Because you were the artist, Mr. Styles! You could’ve painted Miss Charlotte, a tree, a cactus for all I care! What matters is – and always has been – you. My visits to Hartfield have been for your sake and your sake only because of the encouragement I received-”

“I gave you encouragement?” Harry cut in, shaking his head furiously. “Sir, you are highly mistaken. I’m sorry that you have misinterpreted our interactions so, but I have no thoughts of matrimony at present.”

Mr. Winston’s face hardened as he sat back, swallowing. Harry decided to look out the window while bearing the silence, and thinking everything that transpired in the last five minutes. He could not have been so blind to Mr. Winston’s attentions could he? They had to have been for Charlotte, not him. But the vicar had asked for his hand, and that was clearly proof of his true intentions. How could Harry have been so wrong?

Thankfully there was only a few more minutes worth of more awkward silence until the carriage stopped, and Mr. Winston stepped out quickly, not even bothering to bid Harry goodbye.

“Goodnight, Mr. Winston,” Harry said aloud, mocking his lack of gallantry. He had really overestimated how good of a man Mr. Winston was.

He watched the vicar pause in his steps, and turn around slowly to bow. “Goodnight, Mr. Styles,” he said tersely and stormed into his home.

Harry took a deep breath once the door was closed and he was riding back to Hartfield. Oh what a night! He never expected it to end with a proposal from the man he thought was intended for his friend. And what to tell Charlotte! At least she wouldn’t be crushed when she heard the news – it might even come as a relief that he wasn’t actually interested in her – but still. This was all a mess.

But another blow came in the realization that Harry’s intuition had failed him. Well, partially. He was correct in sensing that Mr. Winston was looking for a carrier to marry, but Harry just didn’t realize it was himself.

The carriage stopped, and Harry knew that must mean he was home. The door opened and he stepped out, surprised to see Mr. Tomlinson’s bright face staring back at him.

“There you are, Harry!” Louis said. “Your grandfather was getting worried that you hadn’t arrived yet and I offered to stand here until you did.”

It was probably the cold air around them, but that made Harry feel warm inside as Mr. Tomlinson put an arm around him. He needed all the comfort of an old friend around him after what transpired in that carriage. Even though he wasn’t planning on telling a soul, he did wish he would be able to tell Louis what happened so he could feel better. But he would much rather not relive that embarrassment again.

“You’re so thoughtful, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry laughed. “I have arrived safely.”

“That’s all I cared about,” Louis said with a smile. “I think I shall be heading back to Donwell now. Before the weather gets worse.”

“In this snow?” Harry gasped, looking up at the sky, snowflakes landing on his lashes that he had to blink away. “There is almost a foot already! Don’t you dare, Mr. Tomlinson. You will stay in one of the guest rooms and spend the entire Christmas day with us like a family.”

“I was going to walk back here in the morning anyway, Harry,” he replied.

“Nonsense,” Harry said. “You’ll stay here and I’m sure Grandpapa would approve. Imagine you catch a cold thanks to walking in this cold at this ungodly hour!” Harry knew he had a stare that could get him anything he wanted, but he made sure to pout as well.

“Very well,” Mr. Tomlinson chuckled. “I shall stay.”

“Wonderful!” Harry grinned, taking his arm. “Now escort me inside before we both catch our death of colds.”

“Oh, Harry,” Louis laughed. “Oh, you’re wearing the garnet pin I gave you.”

Harry raised his hand to candidly touch at his updo, smiling once he felt the pin. “Yes, I asked my maid to put that one in tonight, since I do love it.

Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes were soft as he smiled, nodding. “I remember when I gave it to you,” he sighed. “Well, let us go inside, dear Harry.”

“Finally,” Harry giggled, and let himself be walked inside.

✺

It did indeed snow for Christmas, and Mr. Tomlinson was happy to spend it with his family. He woke up early in a soft bed, smiling to himself once he realized which bed it was. Even though he spent all his nights at Donwell, Mr. Warwick always had a room standing by in case he needed to stay for the night. It had only happened a handful of times in their friendship, and almost all due to the weather. And as much as he loved his bed at Donwell, having his own at Hartfield was a joy as well. He stretched against the mattress before rising, quickly changing into clothing that he kept there. He looked outside to see at least half a meter of snow on the ground, the cool sun already trying to shine through the clouds. He knew his nieces and nephews could not resist to be outside in weather like this, so he set off to find them.

“Bartholomew?” he called out, the servant stopping and turning to see him.

“Hello, sir,” he said with a bow.

“Can you have this note sent to Donwell?” Louis asked, handing him the paper. “I must have the gifts brought over since I haven’t been home.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Is Mr. Styles up yet?”

The servant shook his head. “I am told he is still asleep, sir.”

Louis chuckled to himself. “Of course he is. Well, Happy Christmas!”

He made his way down the stairs until he reached the lower level, already wondering what part of the gardens Liam was in. His intuition served him right as he found them in the very garden they used to play as boys, with Zayn and Harry as well, already throwing snowballs with James and Marianne. The toddlers sat in the snow and played around under the watchful eyes of their nannies.

“Hello, Liam,” he laughed as he watched the children play. “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas, Louis!” Liam laughed, his coat being hit by a snow ball at that very moment.

“Father said he would beat us at throwing snowballs, Uncle Louis!” Marianne called.

“Well we cannot let him think he is actually better than you all, now can we?” Louis said.

“No!” James yelled with excitement, ducking as his father threw a ball at him.

The time went by as Louis played with them, happily covered in snow as took turns between a snowball fight or playing with the toddlers helping them build castles in the snow. He saw James pointing to the main house, looking up to see Zayn with Henry in his arms, waving at them. Harry was next to him as well.

Louis grinned as he waved back.

After James and Marianne said they were tired and wanted to rest, they all decided to go back inside, where Zayn was already waiting for them on the stairwell.

“Go back to your rooms and change out of your clothes!” he ordered, “especially you, James, you’re soaked! I will give you nothing but gruel for a month if either of you turns up sick!”

“Yes, Papa!” the children said as they rushed up the stairs, Harry letting them pass as he went down.

Louis smiled to himself as he watched Liam approach his husband, kissing him on the cheek.

“I hope they do not catch colds,” Zayn said with a sigh.

“Do not worry, dear,” Liam soothed. “Would you like to go up yourself and help me find new clothes to wear as well?”

“You know me so well,” Zayn laughed, and walked back up the steps with his husband. “You should change too, Mr. Tomlinson! And Happy Christmas!” he called out before they were out of sight.

“Maybe you should,” Harry giggled, finally at the bottom of the stairs and standing in front of him. “You’re positively soaked to the bone.”

“Happy Christmas to you too, Harry,” Louis laughed, already taking off his overcoat.

“Happy Christmas, Mr. Tomlinson,” he laughed. “Now I think it best if you changed. I am sure we keep clothes that fit you in your room.”

“I believe I will, per Zayn’s suggestion.”

“Have you brought presents for the children?” Harry asked as they walked up the stairs together.

Mr. Tomlinson laughed. “Do not act as if you are not curious for what I have decided to gift you as well.”

“Maybe,” Harry pouted. “But only because you give such nice, meaningful ones. Like that rose and lemon parfum you gave me from France for one of my birthdays. Or the petty hairpins you find me!”

Ah, Louis always found the nicest gifts to give Harry on special occasions. The carrier liked to smell nice, or have pretty things in his collections. So Louis knew hairpins or parfum were the best ways to make him smile, and they always ended up working. “I have already sent for them from Donwell, since I wasn’t able to go home last night,” he said with a pointed stare.

“And look what fun you had because of it!” Harry grinned. “The children are most happy when you’re around to play with them, especially on a snowy morning like this. It shall truly be a happy Christmas.”

“I suppose,” Louis smirked. And Harry was right. For they spent a wonderful Christmas day, with Louis giving his nieces and nephews their trinkets, everyone having a wonderful dinner feast, and the night spent with games and laughter while Mr. Warwick sat by the fire. And yes, Mr. Tomlinson decided to stay the night once again, much to Harry’s delight.

✺

“I know from your letters that you are well,” Zayn began, “but how are you really, brother? How has Grandpapa been?”

While Mr. Tomlinson and Mr. Payne were visiting Randalls for a gentlemen’s party Mr. Rowland was hosting, Harry decided to spend some time with his brother while Mr. Warwick took care of the children in another part of the house. They were in one of the sitting rooms with the doors closed, the fire going, and Harry finishing his embroidery while Zayn looked out the window and sipped his tea.

“I don’t think there’s much to say besides what we write in our letters,” Harry mused. “Grandpapa does his daily walks in the evening as recommended by Doctor Roberts, and he has his gruel in the morning and for supper. He sees Doctor Roberts almost every day, spending hours talking about different medicines to take or new health regimes to try. You know, like he’s always done.”

“I see,” Zayn nodded, sipping his tea.

“How about London?” Harry asked, stabbing the needle into the cloth once again. “How is life there?”

“Oh,” Zayn smiled. “It is exciting in its own way. The streets are loud, but I think the children are used to it since that is all they’ve ever known. And the families we are friends with are very nice.”

“I would ask how your relationship with Liam is,” Harry chuckled. “But I think baby Henry is enough proof of that.”

Zayn blushed as he smiled. “Yes. He is the most attentive and loving husband. I- oh. You know how I feel for him. He’s everything I could ever want in a husband: kind, gentle, so eager to love with his entire heart. I am very lucky to have married him.”

Harry remembered their courtship very well, despite how brief it was. Both he and Mr. Tomlinson had noticed how often their brothers were spending time together, besides the group visits they shared. Harry would often find bunches of wildflowers in Zayn’s room, wondering why his brother smiled so as he arranged them in their vases. It was only when Mr. Tomlinson told him he saw Liam picking flowers for hours that they were able to put two and two together. But the older man didn’t believe there was anything between them, given that they were childhood friends. But for Harry, between their shared looks that lingered longer with each passing day, or the secret touches they thought no one saw, or the way they only strived for each other’s attention during gatherings, it was clear there was more than an infatuation between the two. But when two months passed after he and Mr. Tomlinson first noticed their glances and there was no engagement announcement, Harry decided to take matters into his own hands. He made sure Liam would be at Hartfield almost every day, even without his step brother, and he put them in more situations where they would be alone. And about a month into his troubles, Harry finally heard Mr. Payne asking Mr. Warwick for Zayn’s hand, and he would never forget the absolute joy on his brother’s face once their grandfather gave his consent.

And with all the children they produced, Harry would count it as one of his ultimate successes.

“And you?” Zayn asked. “Have you not found someone to your fancy?”

“Me?” Harry laughed. “Why would I be looking for someone? You know I do not want to marry.”

“Do not think that I have forgotten how you were when you were younger, Harry.”

“What do you mean?” he frowned.

“You used to talk about marriage all the time! About wanting to find the perfect husband, the most beautiful house, and bear his children. Do you know how many times I found you with a sheet over your head pretending you were at your wedding when we were younger?”

Well, that wasn’t hard to believe. But as he grew, his perspective grew to change as well. “I think,” Harry began, “my perspective changed when you got married. I was suddenly the carrier of Hartfield, and I think I like my place here too much to marry.”

“But you wanted children! And a husband for it.”

“Maybe that shall change,” Harry sighed, “if I meet the right man. I’ve… I’ve never been in love, Zayn. I know I have wanted to marry since we were young, but now I find that I cannot marry just anyone. I need to find that love that swept you off your feet, and hope there is a man out there that will be as devoted as your Liam. But for now, I am content with being unmarried.” Even if he wishes he had found his soulmate already. “Perhaps Mr. Grimshaw will prove worthy enough for my taste.”

“Do you think so?” Zayn asked with a quizzical brow, putting down his tea cup. “We have not met him yet, only known him through the letters he sends the Rowlands. Who knows how he might be in person.”

“That is why I intend to find out,” Harry smiled. “I would love to meet Nick Grimshaw solely to see how well we would do together, which I think will be great indeed. I doubt I have found my future husband at this point, so I am eager to get to know Mr. Grimshaw and see if he could be that man.”

“Well I hope he is,” Zayn smiled. “For I shall like to see you married. My children deserve to have cousins they can play with.”

“And so they shall,” Harry declared. “In due course.” And he hoped it was sooner rather than later. But now he just had to wait for Mr. Grimshaw to finally arrive in Highbury. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long until he did come.

✺

A few days before they were set to go back to London, Liam and Louis decided to take the children along Donwell lake before exploring the house. Mr. Tomlinson would go back to Donwell every night and go right back to Hartfield in the morning, so he thought it was about time the little Paynes got to see Donwell on their holiday.

“Don’t go too far, Marianne!” Liam called out as they walked along the gravel path that circled the water. Louis was carrying Louisa in his arms while Arthur walked alongside, content to use his legs and pick up a rock here and there to inspect. Marianne and James were already by the shallow shore, pointing at the different birds they saw flying above.

“How are matters with you and Zayn?” Mr. Tomlinson asked as they continued to walk.

“Better than ever I’d say,” Mr. Payne smiled. “I have proof every day that I married my better half.”

“I can’t imagine being married to one of Harry’s siblings,” Mr. Tomlinson chuckled. “Harry is enough of a handful as it is.”

“You and I both know Zayn is more subdued than his younger brother,” Liam scoffed, “even though he does have his impulses that resemble him. I come home to some random animal that he has picked off the street more often than not.”

Louis chuckled. He remembered Harry always bringing back a frog, a chipmunk, anything that let itself be picked up and taken inside the house to go show everyone. At one point Harry brought home an entire family of kittens with their mother that he had found in town, and the cats still roam the Hartfield grounds to the day. “Harry has always been a handful on his own.”

“I’m glad I got to see the Rowlands, though,” Liam said as they walked on. “Marriage does Mitch very good, if I do say so myself. Sarah has brought a joy to his face that I never saw on him before.”

Yesterday, they went to a gentleman’s party with Mr. Rowland in attendance, and Louis spent much of the night listening to them – and most of the other gentlemen – speak about marriage yet again. And of course, Louis was brought up as the only bachelor in attendance, since Mr. Winston had already gone to Bath.

“Marriage does do him good, Liam,” he agreed. “And I think it would do you good as well.”

Not this again. “You know perfectly well I like my solitude at Donwell,” Louis grunted, putting Louisa down since she wanted to walk next to Arthur. “Besides, who would I even marry? I do not have time to go to Bath or Bristol or even London to go court a carrier that I happen to meet there.”

“You know,” Liam mused, “since everyone else we know is married in Highbury, it only makes sense for you to marry Harry. He technically is the most eligible carrier in Highbury.”

Louis couldn’t have heard right. “Oh, Liam!” he scoffed. “You must be talking in jest?”

“I am not!” he laughed. “Give me a good reason why not?”

Harry? Marry Harry? No. He couldn’t think of any solid reasons at the moment, but no. “Because… well I have known him all my life! Since we were children! No, I cannot think of him in that way and I am certain he does not either. We could never marry.”

“I saw him wearing that pin you gave him all those years ago,” Liam smirked, “at the Rowland’s party. Do not think I don’t remember that you gave it to him.”

Oh, the pin. Louis remembered it like it was yesterday. He had just arrived home from a trip to France to see his mother’s relatives, one of the firsts after her passing.

_“Hello, Louis,” Sarah said as he walked into Hartfield. She was standing there with a solemn look on her face, looking down at her hands in a nice grey dress, her hair up as usual._

_“Hello, Miss Jones,” he smiled, looking around the house. He couldn’t hear the commotion that Hartfield usually had when Harry and Zayn were around. “Where is everyone? I never received the letters Mr. Warwick sent me weeks ago.”_

_“Oh,” she smiled sadly. “I would have written to you in place of him, but everything happened so suddenly. Mr. Warwick had a sickness, terrible chill and fever, very terrible. He almost couldn’t breathe. So Doctor Roberts suggested he go to Bath for a few weeks, for fresher air and to try the waters. Zayn went with him as well, to keep him company. And they were supposed to come back today but… we received a letter that they had to extend their stay for another fortnight. Harry has quite missed them, and he just ran off after I read him the letter. I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”_

_“Oh,” Louis nodded. He had received word that Mr. Warwick was ill and had to leave Highbury, but he didn’t know it would be that bad. He knew Harry must be terribly upset with both his grandfather and brother gone. “Well, can I go look for him?”_

_“I don’t think he’s in the house,” Sarah sighed, “one of the servants told me he ran off outside, so I just let him be. I know he’ll be back before sundown. I know he won’t let me worry about him too long.”_

_Louis bowed as he nodded and left. He walked back to Donwell, knowing exactly where Harry would be. Ever since Harry was a baby, he loved spending time in the strawberry fields, particularly in the spring and summer when they were ripe for picking and he’d go home with his face covered in red juice. And whenever Harry would go missing and Sarah couldn’t find him, he was always somewhere near Donwell. And sure enough, as Louis got closer to his own home, there was a curly haired boy sitting in his strawberry fields, curled up into a ball as he hid his face against his legs. Louis made his way over the shrubberies, the crunch of the dry leaves beneath his boots._

_“Harry?” he said softly, approaching him._

_The boy quickly looked up, a smile growing over his tear-stricken face. “Louis?” he sniffled. “You’re back?”_

_“Yeah,” he nodded, sitting next to him in the dirt. “Sarah told me you were out somewhere, so I thought I’d check these fields since you like them so much.”_

_“Yeah,” he sniffed. “I’m here.”_

_Louis looked at him, seeing how red his nose was from the tears and offered him a handkerchief. “Why have you been crying?”_

_“Grandpapa is still away,” Harry mumbled, taking the piece of cloth and blowing his nose, “which means he is still sick. I don’t like him being sick.”_

_“He’ll get better, love,” Louis assured. “You know he will.”_

_“He wouldn’t be away for so long if it wasn’t so bad,” Harry wailed, fresh tears running down his cheeks. “I-” his voice cracked, “I know my mum and father aren’t here anymore, and I wish they were, but I never knew them that well, and-and I don’t want to lose Grandpapa! He’s all the family I have! Him and Zayn!”_

_“Oh, Haz,” Louis said softly, wrapping an arm around him, bringing him close. “You won’t lose Mr. Warwick.”_

_“I hate being alone,” Harry whispered through tears. “I just want him back.”_

_“You’ll never be alone,” Louis soothed. “You have Zayn.”_

_“Zayn shall marry someday. I know it. We talk about marriage all the time, and he’s serious about it. I like the idea of marriage too, but once I get to thinking about leaving Hartfield, I don’t like it. But I know Zayn would be willing to leave. So one day he’ll find the man of his dreams, and he’ll leave me and Grandpapa. And I am not naïve. I know how old Grandpapa is. I know he won’t live forever. I know…” he trailed off to sob again._

_It broke Louis’ heart to hear him cry so. He brought him closer to his chest, hoping his heartbeat would soothe him a bit more. “Harry, you’ll never be alone. You’ll always have me.”_

_“Really?” Harry whispered into the fabric of his jacket._

_“Really,” Louis affirmed with a small smile. “No matter where I am, near or far, just know I’ll always be there for you. I’ll come from the ends of the world if you only call for me.”_

_“Thank you, Louis,” he sniffed, leaning back to look at him with wet eyes._

_“There’s that smile I love to see,” Louis grinned, digging in his pocket for the small package. “Here, I got you something from Paris.”_

_Harry’s eyes widened as his smile grew. “What is it?” he asked, holding out his hand._

_“Open it.”_

_And Harry did as he was told, dabbing his eyes once more with the handkerchief before untying the hemp string around the brown paper. Eventually he got the box open, gasping as he looked inside._

_“A pin for your hair,” Louis said._

_Harry took it out of the box, inspecting it in the light. It was a sunflower hair pin, with golden leaves and a garnet in the center, glowing in the sunshine as the carrier twirled it in his fingers._

_“Oh, Lou. It’s beautiful. But I don’t wear my hair up yet,” he giggled. “Not for a few more years, especially when it gets longer.”_

_Louis rolled his eyes. “I know that, silly,” he chuckled. “But I thought I’d get you one for your collection. No doubt you have some from your mother that were given to you.”_

_“I do,” he smiled softly. “Thank you, Louis. This is a wonderful present.”_

_“And it made you smile,” Louis said, “which is how you should always be. Right?”_

_“Right,” Harry laughed, dimples popping out of his cheeks._

_“Love seeing your cute dimples, Haz,” he giggled, bringing in him for a hug again. “Just remember, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”_

And after that, Louis took him home, and Mr. Warwick did eventually come back, grumpy that he had to leave Hartfield but in much better shape than when he left it, and Harry was more than happy to have his grandpa and brother back.

“No, brother,” Louis laughed, shaking his head away from the memory. “I have given him multiple pins over the years, and that one is his favorite because it’s the first one I gave him, nothing more than that. No. We can never be in that way.”

“Whatever you say, dear brother,” Liam chuckled. “I’m simply stating a possibility.”

And as they continued to walk around the lake, stopping to skip rocks across the surface, Louis continued to think about what Liam suggested. Would marrying Harry be a possibility? Even though they had known each other their entire lives, he didn’t really consider him as a sibling. Just as a good friend. No, surely that was all he was ever going to be. But that didn’t stop Louis from thinking what Harry’s response to such a suggestion would be. Would he be against it? For it? Actually like the idea? Well, he would never know. Because that was simply too awkward of a topic to ask a friend like that. Even if he had to admit… Harry was a good match for him. In a variety of ways.

But no matter. He knew it wasn’t going to happen. Because their relationship had always been nothing more than a mutual respect of each other. And it was silly to think that it could ever change. So with a cross between a huff and a sigh, Louis threw another stone across the lake, watching it skip and leave behind circles across the surface.

✺

“Now I want each and every one of you to behave,” Harry said as he quickly kissed the heads of his nieces and nephews. “Be good on your journey home and I shall have some nice gifts waiting for you all here the next time you visit.”

“Okay, Uncle Harry!” Marianne cheered as she hopped into the carriage.

“Goodbye, Uncle Harry,” James said after giving him a quick hug and following Marianne in.

Since Mr. Tomlinson sees them more often than Harry and his grandfather do, he gave them simple goodbyes the other night and said he would see them in London soon.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Zayn said as he hugged Harry tightly, the lavender perfume he knew Liam had gifted him filling Harry’s senses.

“Goodbye, Zayn,” he whispered. He didn’t like to think about it, but it was moments like those when Harry was suddenly reminded of how much he missed his brother. He got to see him every day for his entire life, and then one day it changed to only a few times a year. It was a drastic change, even if they were only 16 miles apart.

He bid goodbye to Mr. Payne as well with a warm hug, and watched as they all entered their carriage and a servant closed the door.

“Goodness,” Harry said. “This really was an interesting Christmas season.” He looked over and saw his grandfather shed a tear as they watched their carriage leave. “Grandpapa? Oh do not cry.”

“I wish they would not leave,” Mr. Warwick sniffed. “I miss having Zayn around in this house.”

“I miss him, too,” Harry sniffed, leaning over to give him a comforting hug. “But we both know he is happy in London with the family he has created. We should be nothing but happy for him, Grandpapa.”

“At least I know you will never leave me, Harry,” the old man said. “I don’t know how I could give you up after losing Zayn like that.”

“And you’ll be happy to know that I still very much plan to be an old carrier who simply dotes on Zayn’s children for the rest of my life if I never find a man to fall in love with. Come, let us go inside and I’ll read to you by the fire.”

And once Mr. Warwick fell asleep in his chair, Harry stared into the crackling fire as he thought about the possibility of marriage, as the topic was so brought up over the season. He stood by what he told Zayn; that he would like to marry, but he needed to fall in love first. And maybe it was best that he hadn’t found love yet, for he could never leave his grandfather alone. Not when he and Zayn were the only family he had left on this earth.

✺

“I heard Mr. Winston has left for Bath,” Harry said. It was now a few days into the new year, and it was time to pay a visit to Charlotte to have an update on her recovery. He was pleased to see that she was doing better, now graduated from her bed to the rocking chair by the fire, while Harry sat in the one across from her as he watched her embroider a handkerchief.

Mr. Warwick also received a letter from Mr. Winston, saying he was leaving to Bath and wouldn’t know for sure when he would be returning. Harry knew exactly why he had left, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit shocked over it. Not only did he leave Highbury with his tail between his legs, but he also did it because he could not handle being turned down. A despicable man of all sorts, not matter his occupation.

“Has he?” Charlotte replied. “Why?”

Harry signed as he looked down at his hands. “While Highbury may not know, I think I know the reason with certainty.”

“And that is?”

“Before I go on, Charlotte, I just want you to know this is not your fault. He has proven to be a bastard.”

Charlotte frowned, leaning forward in her chair. “What has happened?”

“After the party at Randalls when we were forced to take a carriage home together alone,” Harry sighed. “Mr. Winston decided to use that opportunity to propose. To me.”

“To you?” Charlotte gasped.

“Apparently any attentions paid upon you were for my benefit and my benefit only, with him having no regards for your feelings and for that I can never forgive him. I always thought he was a nice addition to Highbury, and yet he has scurried away like a rat because a carrier didn’t accept his hand in marriage.” When Charlotte didn’t reply, he continued. “You must know that I never had any intentions with him! I genuinely thought he was interested in you, dear Charlotte.”

“Oh! I know that. Even though we have not known each other long, Harry, I don’t find you capable of being that cruel. If you had thought he was interested in me, then that was your genuine thought and held me in a high regard in your eyes.”

“You are a thousand times better person than he is, Charlotte,” Harry replied. “I’m sorry I even thought of him for you.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” she said with a small smile. “I’m glad he is in Bath then. I would hate to see his face right now, given how he has treated us both. And I am glad that I never harbored any feelings for him, or my heart should have truly been broken at this news. I hope he stays in Bath for a long time.”

“We can only hope,” Harry said with a laugh. He was glad to see Charlotte was not very heartbroken over this, and that just made him think that her heart really was somewhere else, and it belonged to a certain farmer. He’d just have to find a way to get them together in a way that her mother would approve, and that was definitely going to be a challenge. But Harry had time, and he knew one way or another, he would attend Charlotte’s wedding to Mr. Heyer.

✺

“Did you hear that Mr. Winston went to Bath?” Mr. Tomlinson asked as he raised his bow. Harry watched as he lined up the shot and flung his arrow nearly perfectly, landing almost near the middle of the board.

Two weeks had gone by since Liam and Zayn left Highbury, and the weather was still dreadfully cold. Since the snow had melted and there was little wind, Mr. Tomlinson had proposed they shoot some arrows at Donwell, and Harry agreed with the distraction. He would take anything to have him forget about Mr. Winston for a while, but Louis was not aware of his predicament and still informed him of his gossip.

“I did,” Harry said simply.

“I received a letter from him last night,” Mr. Tomlinson said. “He said he’s been dining with ladies every night, and he feels he’s caught the eye of an heiress from a wealthy family.”

 _Of course_ he went to Bath to meet a potential mate. Harry’s rejection was so detrimental that he’s currently seeking a wife. On the one hand his ego was stroked to think his rejection was that fierce, but on the other Harry hated to think he was associated with such a man to begin with. Things will definitely change once he comes back. “Has he? Well he must be extremely lucky.”

“Did I not say that he would want to marry someone with a considerable fortune?” Louis said as he went to pick up his arrows, bringing them back to stand next to Harry.

Harry sighed, aiming his arrow but nearly missing the target. “You did. I will have to admit that.”

“I do wonder why he ended up leaving so suddenly. It’s nearly February and the curate can only do the sermons for so long.”

“Well I don’t think Mr. Winston is that missed in Highbury,” Harry huffed, blowing away a curl that dropped on his face. “It will do him well to be away for so long.”

“Did he make a mention to you after the party at Randalls?” Louis mused, aiming his arrow again and keeping one eye open. “I do recall you traveling alone with him after it, and he left only days after.”

Harry has successfully lied to Mr. Tomlinson a total of four times in his life. Well, got away with it would be a better term. First, when he was six, claiming he didn’t know what happened to the older boy’s custard that he had left on the table. Second, when he was twelve, when he said he did in fact read Paradise Lost in its entirety. Third, when he was sixteen, when Louis almost caught him kissing Frederick Collins behind an oak tree. Fourth, when he was nineteen, and he claimed he didn’t know where Louis’ favorite riding coat was when Harry had taken it because he liked the color. These were the only moments in their friendship that Louis couldn’t tell if he was lying or not, and didn’t call Harry out on it. So this might have almost been considered a fifth lie, but it didn’t count if it was by omittance. Mr. Winston did not tell him he would be going to Bath because of his failed proposal, so Harry really didn’t know of his journey that night.

“He made no such mention to me.” Which was not a lie. “He was quite drunk, if I do remember correctly. Had too much wine that night.”

“Well he has stayed away far too long,” Mr. Tomlinson said. “We might as well get a new vicar if he cannot be in Highbury to do the services. And I don’t even attend them.”

Harry sighed, “He can take all the time he needs. As I said before, he’s not missed. Replace him for all I care.”

“Such a change in your temperament towards him,” Louis chuckled. “My, my. What offense has Mr. Winston given you for this change?”

“Nothing,” Harry said simply. “Now, I think we should go inside for tea, no? I must admit I’m close to freezing out here.”

“Of course,” Louis nodded. They made their way back to Donwell Abbey, the subject of Mr. Winston quite dropped from the remainder of their evening, much to Harry’s delight.

✺

“I think we should call on the Teasdales, should we not?” Harry asked. It was now February, and he noticed that Charlotte had seemed a little downcast in recent days, but when he asked if she wanted to talk about it, she said she would rather not. So he made it his goal to keep her entertained when he went to visit her. They decided to go to Ford’s for some ribbon shopping, and after walking around the village, Harry thought – against his better judgement – that a visit to Miss Teasdale would be enough to distract her. Either way, Charlotte needed a distraction, even if it was an annoying one. Where else could they escape but with Miss Teasdale blabbing about her beloved nephew. “It is Tuesday, meaning they would have some word from Timothée. And I’d rather get it over with now.”

“Yes,” Charlotte smiled. “We should.”

They both crossed the street over to her over to the residence, with Harry surprised with how long it took Ms. Teasdale to open the door once they knocked. Usually the old woman was always eagerly waiting for guests to tell about her prized nephew.

“Mr. Styles!” she gasped as she stood by the door, a large grin on her face. “What a pleasure to see you! Oh but you have not heard the news! Please come inside at once!”

“What has happened?” Harry asked as he followed her up the stairs, looking back at Charlotte.

“Well you do know that my nephew writes every Tuesday for as long as we can remember. And today – oh today! Mr. Styles, we have received the best kind of news.”

“And what is that news?”

“We didn’t even get a letter this time,” she said as she opened the door to her room. “He just showed up at our doorstep looking as radiant as ever, and I almost fainted from the shock. Timothée has arrived! My beloved nephew! Here in Highbury!”

The man was sitting by the fire, looking down at his lap before raising his head, eyes wide as he looked at Harry. It had been a few years since Timothée had last been in Highbury – probably five years at best – so he didn’t look the same as when Harry last saw him. His curls were longer, almost reaching his shoulders. And as he stood to greet them, it was clear he got taller as well. Overall, attractive features in a carrier.

“Hello, Mr. Chalamet,” Harry said with a nod. “What a pleasure to see you in Highbury again.”

“Hello, Mr. Styles,” he said with a smile. “I thank you.”

“Do sit down!” Miss Teasdale said, running over to the maid to bring the tea over.

“I hope your journey was well?” Harry asked.

“Very well,” Timothée replied as Harry went to sit down.

“This is Charlotte Clark,” Harry said as he gestured towards his friend. “She has recently moved to Highbury with her family, and I am lucky to call her a good friend of mine.”

“A pleasure, Miss Clark,” Timothée smiled with a nod.

“Hello, Mr. Chalamet,” Charlotte grinned with a small nod, sitting next to Harry.

“Oh do sit down! Sit down! Can you believe he is here?” Miss Teasdale exclaimed. “He was supposed to go to Ireland with the Fosters – well I should be saying the Baxters as it is Mr. Baxter’s estate and he and Miss Foster are recently married so really I should say Colonel Foster, his wife, and the Baxters – But Timothée! Oh how his health! After he suffered a cold that he could not get over – since November if you can believe! - they took Timothée’s suggestion and sent him back to Highbury. Where he could recover in peace with an air that agrees with him.”

Oh how Harry did _not_ miss hearing Miss Teasdale ramble. “I assume Mr. and Mrs. Baxter miss you terribly,” Harry stated, looking over at Timothée.

“They-”

“Of course they do!” Miss Teasdale cut it. “Mr. Baxter in particular could not have a higher regard for our Timothée. Why, ever since the service he rendered him – oh how I shudder to think of it! – at Weymouth last October! The waves! The sails! We could not be more grateful for his heroism. Timothée will be terribly missed in Ireland!”

“Aunt,” Mr. Chalamet said. “It was nothing. He happened to save me from falling and that is all.”

“That is all! Oh, Timothée is too modest,” she said towards Harry, “he would not even let me write a letter to Mr. Baxter to thank him for his kindness. But it is no matter. Timothée is to stay with us for three months! Isn’t that lovely, Mr. Styles?”

Three months of Timothée Chalamet? Heaven forbid. Harry will never hear the end of it. “Most lovely,” he replied with a terse smile. He quickly changed the subject before she could blather on again. “You all should come to Hartfield for a dinner party. My grandfather will be delighted to receive you all there.” Despite his own wishes against it, it was right to invite them all as soon as possible.

“Did you hear that mother?” Miss Teasdale gasped, raising her voice at Mrs. Teasdale. “Mr. Styles has invited us to Hartfield for dinner! How kind of you!”

Harry thought he would get some kind of animated response from Timothée, but instead was met with an almost smile as he nodded with his aunt. What a bore.

Harry left with Charlotte soon after. “He plans to stay three months?” Harry said as they walked back to Hartfield. “Oh dear heavens. I shall have to see him almost every day!”

“I do not think he will be so boring,” Charlotte said. “Miss Teasdale did say he was ill, and his reserved nature could be due to that.”

“If it were any other person, I would agree with you, Charlotte,” Harry sighed. “But I have known Mr. Chalamet all my life and he is just as reserved – even more so – than I remembered. This coldness of character is not due to illness.”

“Perhaps he will change the longer he is in Highbury!”

“Let’s hope that he does,” Harry groaned. “So his presence will be more bearable. Goodness everything about him vexes me so! His name is not even spelled in the correct way!”

“Is it not spelled T-i-m-o-t-h-y?”

“No,” Harry scoffed. “It is spelled T-i-m-o-t-h-e-e. Who spells it like that? We’re not French!”

“Wasn’t his great grandmother French, Harry?”

“So?”

“Well isn’t Mr. Tomlinson’s name French as well? Louis?”

“Mr. Tomlinson’s mother was French,” Harry sighed. “Which is why he has more right to use a French name rather than a grandmother who had it!”

“Oh, Harry,” Charlotte laughed. “You will never find anything to praise Timothée Chalamet for.”

“Privately no,” Harry answered. “But I shall give him all the respect he deserves when we are in company. I would never cause insult in public.”

“We shall see that test soon,” Charlotte giggled.

Timothée Chalamet arriving in Highbury was not the surprise Harry had expected, and it only made him more miserable. For this only made him yearn to see another person that was soon expected in Highbury, whose presence would be much more agreeable for everyone. If only such a person would arrive within the week or so, to make everything more bearable.

✺

“Hello, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry greeted him. “I would’ve thought you’d bring your carriage to Hartfield like you did at Christmas.”

The dinner party night had arrived, with Harry standing by the front entrance to greet the guests as they walked in. Mr. and Mrs. Rowland were one of the first to arrive, already inside chatting with Mr. Warwick. Miss Teasdale arrived with her mother and nephew as well, all of them dressed well and acting polite as ever. Charlotte was last to arrive, with her parents in tow. They had visited Hartfield some once or twice since their initial visit, and while her mother was still as cold as before, Mr. Clark made an impression on Mr. Warwick, and always asked for him to be invited to their gatherings after.

But Harry did not want to go inside until Mr. Tomlinson arrived, and he smiled once he saw him riding towards the house on his horse, dressed in a green jacket and hair tousled just so.

“I was going to walk here,” Mr. Tomlinson chuckled, “but I thought I would take Bessie for a ride.”

“Goodness, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry huffed. “The Clarks are in trade and they arrived in their carriage! While you arrived on horseback?”

“And why should I care?” Louis scoffed. “I do what I please and always have, Harry. You know that very well.”

“Of course,” Harry said with an eyeroll, leading him inside.

“I hear Mr. Timothée has arrived in town?” Mr. Tomlinson said, nodding to a few people who they passed. “Did you invite him tonight?”

“Yes,” Harry sighed, “along with his aunt and grandmother. They are already here.” As if he could not invite them.

“What a very good host you make, then,” Louis said with a smile.

Introductions were made around the room as everyone arrived, Harry walking around to make sure everyone was comfortable. Dinner was finally served, with Harry seated at one end of the table and his grandfather at the other. He was happy to see him deep in conversation with Mrs. Teasdale, chatting about what drink would be best to go with the soup. Harry was content to sit with Charlotte on one side, but not all that pleased to have Timothée on the other, for he barely spoke a word throughout the first two courses.

As dessert was served, Mr. Rowland made a mention to Mrs. Clark that his brother would soon be arriving in Highbury. “I have no doubt of it,” he said as he looked over at his wife. “I know Nick will join us soon.”

“Oh Mr. Grimshaw!” Miss Teasdale exclaimed. “Timothée, he is quite a fixture here. We are all most eager to meet him,” she turned towards Harry, “He was at Weymouth in October when Timothée was there! Such a nice man from what he recalled.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he realized the implications of that.

“In October?” Mr. Tomlinson asked with a slight frown. “When Mr. Rowland had his wedding?”

All eyes were on Timothée, who nodded without a word as he ate his custard.

Harry would have to probe about that later, even though he knew Mr. Tomlinson already thought ill of him. “You must describe him! Was he agreeable?” he asked cheerfully.

“He is believed to be,” Timothée replied simply.

“Is he handsome?”

“Most say he was.”

Harry frowned as he looked over at Mr. Tomlinson. “But what do _you_ think, Mr. Chalamet? In your own words?”

“We were so little acquainted in Weymouth that I could not possibly have a proper opinion, Mr. Styles.” And before Harry could reply. “What a lovely custard this is. I must ask your cook for the recipe. Is there a particular method they use?”

“Of course,” Harry said as he looked back down at his own. He looked over to see Mr. Tomlinson sharing a look with him, brow raised. At this rate, Harry would never get along with Mr. Chalamet.

After dinner they all went to the large sitting room, and Timothée entertained the rest of the guests with his playing on the piano forte they kept. And Harry had to admit he played very well, far better than he ever could.

“Timothée plays the piano forte very well,” Mr. Tomlinson said as he came to sit next to Harry in one of the chairs around the room. “It is so thoughtful of you to let him play. I heard he has no instrument at his aunt’s house, and is clearly enjoying this indulgence.”

Harry looked over to see a small smile on the carrier’s lips as he played. “So he does,” he noted.

“Will you not play this evening?”

“So I could be compared to his superior skills?” Harry scoffed, opening his fan to fan himself. He could feel the room getting hot. “No thank you. I shall let him play all himself tonight.”

“You could play as well as him,” Mr. Tomlinson said, “if you only applied yourself.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I have better things to do than to make myself accomplished in piano playing or other trivial things men expect carriers to be like. Since I plan to have no husband, I don’t need to be building myself up to catch one. Timothée, on the other hand, would do well to find a husband now. If he does not want to end up as a tutor after living a pampered life with the Fosters.”

“Oh Harry,” Mr. Tomlinson sighed. “You make it very plain you do not like him.”

“And why should I? He is a bore to talk to – and he makes no effort I assure you – so why am I to blame? Just because we are close in age doesn’t mean that he would be the perfect companion for me. I have Charlotte, and even if I didn’t I wouldn’t want him as a close friend.”

“You simply sound envious of him, Harry,” he chuckled. “Do not let that cloud your judgement.”

“Cloud it? Never. I am thinking perfectly rationally. A reserved companion would do me no good.”

“But once you get to know him he might be more open,” Mr. Tomlinson pressed. “Not everyone has your disposition.”

“But I do not want to be his friend,” Harry smiled tersely. “If he would want a friendship with me, I shall not be against it. But I can assure you he does not want that. We are best left in our own corners away from each other.”

They both watched as Timothée ended his set with a smile, while the room clapped.

“Perhaps you are right,” Mr. Tomlinson said, and left before Harry could say a word.

The rest of the night was uneventful, as Timothée played 2 more songs and then no other entertainment was used. And when all the guests had finally left Hartfield, at least Harry could be content in knowing he did his duty towards Mr. Chalamet and his family, and that was all the courtesy that Harry had to show from them for now.

✺

“Harry?” Charlotte asked as she arrived in the morning the next day, not taking off her blue cloak. “Do you think you could accompany me somewhere?”

“Of course,” Harry said, gesturing for Charles to bring his redingote. He didn’t have something planned for them to do, so an outing came as a welcome surprise. “Where are we going?”

“To Abbey Mill Farm,” she said with a smile, leading him to the waiting carriage.

“To visit Mr. Heyer?” Harry said as he went to sit across from her.

“Yes,” she nodded. “We met the other day and his sisters invited me to their house.”

Harry arched a brow. “Oh?” Now this might prove to be interesting.

“Well,” Charlotte began. “I was in Ford’s shopping for a new bonnet that my mother wanted, and it started to rain! Pouring very fast. The bell rang and I looked up to see Mr. Heyer and his sisters come into the shop. Oh I couldn’t face them – I know I correspond with him but I don’t know how to be around him or his family in person! - so I hid and tried to seem like I didn’t see them. But eventually the sisters came over and greeted me and I could not be rude and not greet them as well! It was a little awkward at first, but they said they missed me and wished I would visit. I accepted after I saw Mr. Heyer looking at me earnestly. Then I said I had to leave, and I forgot my umbrella at home! So I had to walk out in the rain. Then I heard Mr. Heyer call out my name and I turn to see him hand me his own, and telling me that if I was walking home, I should take another path for the one that passes by Doctor Robert’s house is flooded. He looked like he was genuinely worried about me.”

All of this sounded most agreeable, and Harry listened with a wide grin. Perhaps there was some way her mother would give her consent, but it was clear Mr. Heyer’s devotion to Charlotte was unwavered. The carriage stopped, and Harry looked out to see that they were at the farm already. He had never seen the brick house before, but it was a large one and clearly well kept. “I see. Stay as long as you need then,” Harry smiled. “I shall be waiting here.”

Not wanting to stay in the carriage for so long, he decided to exit and take a walk instead while he waited. The sun was shining from above in the coolness of the morning, with the lined trees giving him plenty of shade along the path. He walked until he could see Donwell Abbey in the distance, wondering if Mr. Tomlinson was even home.

Suddenly he heard horses’ hooves coming towards him, and looked up to see a gentleman looking down at him from said horse. He had on a beaver hat with dark hair underneath, wide mouth, and what appeared to be hazel eyes. He had on a red riding coat, and despite being on a horse, did not look tired.

“Good day,” he said. “Can you tell me how to get to the village of Highbury?”

“Good day, sir,” Harry said. “Well you’re basically there. Another mile down this road and take a left at the fork, you’ll be in town square in no time.”

“Thank you,” the man smiled and rode off without another word.

Harry wondered who he was. Clearly not a resident of Highbury since he had no idea where it was, but there was something familiar about him. No matter, he would ask Mr. Tomlinson if he knew anything about a new gentleman in town, for he was sure to know. He got back in the carriage to go wait for Charlotte, still puzzled over the interaction. It wasn’t long before Charlotte herself appeared, looking breathless as she entered the carriage.

“How was it?”

“Wonderful!” Charlotte squealed. “Oh his sisters were so kind to me, and so was his mother. Mr. Heyer even brought walnuts, which he said he had gotten just for me. He remembered I said I liked them!”

“How wonderful,” Harry laughed. His friend looked happier than he had ever seen her, and it was clear as day that she had her heart set on the farmer. If only they were allowed to marry as they wanted. “I hope you can see more of Mr. Heyer.”

“I hope I can as well,” Charlotte smiled, sighing as she fell back against the carriage seats.

At least Charlotte was happy, and that was all that mattered.

✺

If there was one thing that Harry enjoyed, it was tending to the flowers in the hothouse. Ever since it was his responsibility to do so, he read as many books as he could besides from the advice Zayn had given him in order to care for them best. So in the few years, he’s been growing flowers of all kinds. Roses, perennials, all the lovely ones he liked to look at. Harry was tending to his flowers when Charles came running to it, opening the door with haste.

“Sir!”

“Yes?” Harry said as he put down his watering can.

“Mr. and Mrs. Rowland are here with a guest! Mr. Grimshaw is his name. Mr. Warwick said to call for you immediately.”

Oh. _His brother_.

“Thank you, Charles,” he nodded, untying his apron. “I shall be there at once.”

He quickly put away his tools and locked the house, tucking the key back into his coat as he hurried back to the main house. Once he was inside, he saw his reflection in the looking glass, making sure his curls looked proper and his outfit was unsoiled. Satisfied, he walked into the sitting room as the door was opened for him. His grandfather was sitting next to Mrs. Rowland, with Mr. Rowland and another man sitting in the opposite seats.

“There you are, my dear!” Mr. Warwick exclaimed. “I sent Charles for you because we have a guest!”

“Harry,” Mitch said as he stood. “You can finally meet my brother, Mr. Nick Grimshaw. Nick, this is Harry Styles.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he stared at the man, realizing he was the same man he saw on horseback the other day. That was Nick Grimshaw, and he didn’t even know it!

“Good day, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Grimshaw said with a deep nod. “What an honor it is to finally meet you.”

“Good day, sir,” Harry replied. “It is a pleasure on my part to finally match your name with a face.” The man seemed to catch his meaning with a knowing smile.

“He caught us by surprise,” Sarah explained. “We had no prior notice of his arrival! But it’s such a pleasure to have him here.”

“There are few houses who I’d presume on so far,” Mr. Grimshaw explained, hands clasped his hands behind his back, “but since I have been so eager to visit Highbury – and my brother’s new bride – I thought I should take the first chance I get to come here and take the liberty. And I did.”

“And we are glad he has!” Mr. Rowland smiled. “I have missed you, brother. Now we are truly reunited as a family and can enjoy our time as such.”

“Very true,” Mr. Grimshaw said, looking over at Harry.

“I shall call for tea,” Mr. Warwick said from his chair.

As the Rowlands went to sit near his grandfather once the tea was brought in, Harry smiled as Mr. Grimshaw came to sit next to him.

“I must say, Mr. Styles,” he began. “I did not expect for Mrs. Rowland to be so lovely!”

“Did you expect her to be old and plain?” Harry giggled.

“Well I no longer live here so I do not know my brother’s tastes!” the older man laughed. “I did not imagine my new sister-in-law to have governed such a lovely carrier as well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grimshaw,” Harry smiled. “Rest assured that I completely agree with you on that matter. As sad as I was to lose her from Hartfield, I am glad she has made quite a home for herself at Randalls.”

After chatting for a few more minutes, Mr. Grimshaw turned to his brother. “Mitch, I’m afraid I must leave,” he said. “There is an acquaintance I made in Weymouth. A Mr. Chalamet? Even though I may not want to, I must call on him out of respect. I believe he resides with his aunt and grandmother. The Teasondales?”

The Teasdales? Oh no. Poor Mr. Grimshaw, having to be subjected to Miss Teasdale already and not even two days in Highbury. Well, it’s not like Harry could properly warn him.

“The Teasdales!” Mr. Rowland said. “Yes we can call on them once we are in the village.”

“It is of no real importance,” Mr. Grimshaw said to Harry, “but there was some degree of acquaintance in Weymouth, so I must not appear rude and not call on him.”

“I completely understand,” Harry smiled. He found his manners most agreeable so far, looking every part the gentleman he believed him to be. And once the Rowlands and Mr. Grimshaw left, Harry found himself smiling for the rest of the day as he went about the house. It was to be an interesting season indeed.

✺

“Have you met Mr. Grimshaw?” Harry asked.

It was a few nights after the gentleman’s visit, and Mr. Tomlinson had finally come to Hartfield for an evening. Mr. Warwick sat by the fire, asleep as usual, while Mr. Tomlinson sat in his usual chair, nose in a book as usual. Harry knew he had been busy with his tenants for the last few weeks, and was most eager to know his thoughts on the man.

“Yes,” Louis said without looking up from his book. “I have. I called upon the Rowlands and found him there in all his glory.”

“And what did you think of him?” Harry asked. He did wonder whether or not Mr. Tomlinson would end up liking him, but he wasn’t setting his hopes that high after how he’s spoken of him without even meeting.

“I found no redeeming qualities,” he said flatly. “But I would like to be proven wrong, for the sake of Mr. Rowland and his wife.”

Harry groaned. Of course. How could he think this way when he’s barely met him! “Did I not say that you wanted to think ill of him?”

“Saying he doesn’t have notable qualities does not mean I think ill of him, Harry,” Louis replied, turning a page in his book. “Then what good qualities does he have that I am not aware of?”

“He is well mannered!” Harry shrilled. “And very considerate of others. Carries conversation well and has all the right opinions.”

“You just described every decent gentleman in the county,” Mr. Tomlinson deadpanned.

When Mr. Tomlinson wanted to be stubborn, he did it with remarkable success. “But every gentleman in the county isn’t Nick Grimshaw!” Harry cried.

“Harry,” Louis sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t find him remarkable in the slightest.”

“That is because you are older than us,” Harry huffed. “Of course, a man of eight and twenty will not think a man of four and twenty is interesting.”

“Goodness, Harry, I am not much older than you all!” Mr. Tomlinson scolded.

It was clear that Mr. Grimshaw was not a person that they would share the same opinions on, so Harry thought it best to nip that conversation where they were. “We are not to agree on this, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry said simply. “So we might as well talk about something else.”

“I agree,” the older man grumbled.

He looked up to see Louis glaring at him, but sighing. “Fine. Have you heard about Mrs. Rowland’s news?”

Louis quirked an eyebrow. “What news?”

Ah so he hadn’t heard! “She’s expected a child!” he cheered. Harry had spent the day with her yesterday, and she confided in him that she was with child. Oh how glowing she looked when she announced it! Harry couldn’t help but hug her – carefully of course as to not harm the child – and they both cried of happiness. Harry spent the rest of his visit making sure she didn’t move from her seat on the sofa in order to preserve her health. It was left unspoken, but she was older than the age most carriers had their children, so she would have to be extra delicate with her health. He also made a mental note to visit Doctor Roberts and ask any recommendations he could set up in Hartfield for when she visited, teas, foods, etc. “She is just beginning to show now, thanks to her dresses.”

“She is?” Mr. Tomlinson’s face brightened, putting down his book. “How fortunate. She deserves to have a family of her own.”

Harry knew how much Louis loved children, so he couldn’t wait to see the child in his arms as well. “And with a man she loves,” Harry sighed. “I hope they consider ‘Harry’ as a name. Or ‘Harriet’ if it’s a girl! I shall consult with them on my next visit.”

“Why on earth would they name their child after- Oh,” he rolled his eyes. “You still think it is your doing that brought them together.”

Harry frowned. “It is, Mr. Tomlinson, and you’re just too proud to admit it.”

“Whatever your heart harps on, dear Harry,” he chuckled, going back to his book. And Harry spent the rest of the evening wondering what other name would be paired well with ‘Harriet’ if it was a girl.

✺

The next day, Mr. Grimshaw, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Rowland, called at Hartfield, asking to see Harry. “Would you like to take a stroll to town with us?” Sarah asked him once he walked down the stairs.

Harry looked over to see the brothers whispering among themselves, and smiled. “Of course!” He would take any and every opportunity to get to know Mr. Grimshaw better.

After getting his coat and gloves, he happily took Mr. Grimshaw’s arm after he offered it. It was nearly March, and the weather was still dreadfully cold. But Harry did not feel the chill except for his face, happily walking beside Nick as they greeted other people along the road. Eventually they reached the village, with Harry pointing out some of the important shops as they walked along the road, with the Rowlands trailing behind.

“Tell me,” Harry asked as they passed the front of Miss Teasdales home. “Are you much acquainted with Mr. Chalamet? How was your visit to the Teasdales?”

“Is that Ford’s?” Nick asked, pointing to the store. “You must tell me what to buy there, Mr. Styles. I shall have to purchase something there to prove I am a true citizen of Highbury!”

Harry frowned slightly. “If you wish,” he chuckled, and led the way to the store as a worker opened the door for them. Ford’s was always filled with ribbons and fabric of all colors, and Harry loved to spend his time ideally there. But he did not feel like buying a thing when his question was left unanswered, and it seemed like Nick could sense that as they went around the store together.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Harry,” Mr. Grimshaw said, picking up a beautiful ecru lace ribbon. “I cut you off right then in my excitement of the shop.”

“I was merely asking what you thought of Mr. Chalamet?” Harry replied easily, carefully inspecting some pearl earrings on display.

“Oh,” the gentleman replied. “I did not have long to acquaint myself with him and his party. I just know common knowledge of him. That he’s a poor orphan. And as for your question about my call on them, I stayed for over three quarters of an hour!”

“That declares a degree of acquaintance,” Harry mused with an arched brow. Fifteen minutes was an agreeable time to spend on a call, but more than thirty minutes was remarkably familiar indeed. “Are you saying you liked being around Mr. Timothée?”

“Oh you confuse me,” Nick said quickly. “I only meant that I was forced to be there for so long. The… conversation seemed to go on forever when it came to Miss Teasdale and I found it hard to pull myself away. It seems she was very eager to meet with me and could not contain her excitement.”

“That is hardly surprising,” Harry chuckled. “She is always talking her head off. And what did you think of Timothée? Has he changed much since you saw him?”

“I did not notice his appearance when I visited. But now that you happen to mention it, I think he looked so ill,” Mr. Grimshaw grimaced. “Face very pale.”

“Oh I cannot condone that,” Harry tsked as he held up a pair of red ribbons. “Timothée looks fine. He has his own beauty.”

“If men are attracted to that,” Mr. Grimshaw chuckled. As entertaining as it was to talk about Mr. Chalamet, Harry couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the way he heard Nick talk about the carrier. It was very ungentlemanlike to remark on someone who was barely an acquaintance.

They exited the shop, walking towards a waiting Mrs. Rowland that was standing by the tailor. “My husband stepped inside to buy something,” she smiled. “Go on ahead and we shall catch up.”

Mr. Grimshaw offered his arm again, which Harry accepted as they continued on. They walked along the path, more people greeting Harry as they got closer to them. It wasn’t until they were standing in front of the Crowne Inn that Mr. Grimshaw decided to stop.

“Is this where you have your balls, Mr. Styles?” He asked, looking up at the building.

“Balls? You overestimate the society of Highbury, Mr. Grimshaw,” Harry laughed. “We do not have enough young people to hold such balls, so it has been a very long time since one was held.”

“What nonsense!” Mr. Grimshaw declared. “We must have a ball! And an inn of this size must be fit to hold it. Yes! We should hold it here!”

“You are mad!” Harry snickered.

Nick looked back at him. “Can we go inside and inspect it?”

“I don’t see why not,” Harry said, and led the way to the door. They talked to the innkeeper, an old lady who was delighted at the thought of the ballroom being used.

“Oh, Mr. Styles,” she said. “It would be an honor to host a Highbury ball here! We shall get it freshly cleaned and decorated. Oh! Imagine the lights and decoratives! You will be decorating it I presume?”

“Of course he will!” Nick declared. “For I know no better carrier in Highbury – no, Surrey! – who has a better eye for detail than Mr. Harry here.”

“You presume too much, Mr. Grimshaw!” Harry laughed. “For you have no idea of my taste!”

“But I see how you dress,” he grinned, asking for his hand, bowing as if they were starting a dance with no music, “and how you carry yourself. I have no doubt in my mind that you will make this ballroom look like it stepped out of a book of wonders.”

Harry let the other man lead him around the room. “But it is your ball,” he offered with a laugh as Nick twirled him. “Why should I decorate it?”

“Because,” Mr. Grimshaw grinned, holding him close by the waist, before letting him go again, “I have no carrier to claim as mine. As one of the most important carriers of Highbury and a personal friend of mine, it is only right that you be the one to decorate this space in your liking.”

Harry giggled as he continued to dance with him, knowing his face was flushed. “I see. So I guess I am commanded to do it then.”

“And excuse me if I’m being presumptuous,” Nick said as he twirled him again, with Harry landing in his arms and their noses almost touching. Harry couldn’t really describe what the other man’s scent was, but it was pleasant. “May I ask for the first two dances?”

“You can,” Harry said breathlessly. He didn’t care that the old lady was probably staring at them scandalously. At least Mr. Grimshaw brought entertainment to Highbury, and Harry was more than happy to be swept in it.

✺

“To get his hair _cut_?”

Harry was sitting next to Mrs. Rowland as they waited for Mr. Tomlinson to arrive. But once he did, he wasn’t the least bit happy to know why Mr. Grimshaw wasn’t in Highbury at present.

“Yes,” Mr. Rowland sighed. “I told him there are perfectly good hairdressers here, but he insisted on going to London. Apparently there is one that he and his friends use and he only trusts that hairdresser with his hair.”

“What a frivolous folly,” Louis scoffed.

Mr. Rowland nodded. “Maybe his life in Yorkshire makes it hard for him to give up such whims. I beg your pardon, but I must leave,” he said, going over to kiss his wife’s hand. “I shall see you at dinner, my love.”

Sarah blushed as he walked away.

“Mr. Corden is holding a dinner,” Mrs. Rowland announced. “We have all received our invitations, but Mrs. Corden wanted me to tell you, Harry, that they are delaying yours because they want to make sure they have proper screens for the fire for Mr. Warwick.”

“But since Mr. Corden is a merchant,” Mr. Tomlinson began as he walked over to the window, “and since you would never call on a merchant that isn’t your personal friend, then you will surely decline this invitation as well.” He knew how judgmental Harry was of the Corden’s on occasion.

Harry shook his head. “On another occasion, I might have declined. But who knows how long Mr. Grimshaw will be allowed to be here, and we must treasure his time in Highbury. I shall be happy to accept the invitation once it arrives.”

“If you say so,” Mr. Tomlinson muttered.

Harry ignored his temper and decided to talk with Sarah about their outfits for the evening.

✺

A few nights later, Harry arrived at the Corden house with his grandfather in tow. He was wearing his blue velvet cloak, lined with gold trim as it swayed in the wind. Underneath he had on a pink dress shirt with an open neck, and a jade necklace sitting perfectly in the middle.

“I did not know traders could have such fine houses,” Mr. Warwick marveled as they stepped out of the carriage.

“Anything can be accomplished these days, Grandpapa,” Harry said. “The world is constantly changing.”

They were greeted at the door by Mr. and Mrs. Corden, eagerly waiting to do so. “Mr. Warwick! Mr. Styles! What an honor you do us by attending our humble gathering.”

“Harry wanted to attend, and I knew it would do me good to be out once in a while,” Mr. Warwick said with a smile. They walked inside as Harry looked around. It truly was a grand house, and it still astounded him that all this was bought from trade. It made him think the landed gentry of their class could easily come from traders at some point, and he would have to get used to that notion in the future.

Harry found Mr. Tomlinson in the drawing room after he made sure Mr. Warwick was happily sitting by the fire talking with Miss Teasdale, happy that the older man broke away from his crowd to come talk to him.

“So you have accepted their invitation,” Louis began. He looked smart in his pine green coat.

“I said I would,” Harry replied, walking side by side as they entered the grand room. “Is Mr. Grimshaw here?”

“I haven’t tried to look for him,” Mr. Tomlinson answered bluntly. “I-”

“Have you heard the choicest piece of gossip, Mr. Harry?” Mrs. Stevens asked as she walked up to them, cutting him off.

Harry fanned himself as he tilted his head. “What gossip do you speak of?”

“Did you hear of the piano forte given to Mr. Chalamet?”

He looked over at Mr. Tomlinson. “No?”

“It happened this morning!” Mrs. Merton said. “An elegant gift!”

“A piano forte was delivered to the Teasdale house – a very large and beautiful gift – and Timothée said he did not know who sent it! Quite bewildered!” Mrs. Corden said.

“And it had no return address!”

“So the giver wanted to remain anonymous,” Mr. Tomlinson said. “How strange.”

And who would be so bold as to give him a gift of that size, Harry thought as they all went to sit down for dinner. He was seated next to Mr. Grimshaw, who engaged in cheerful conversation throughout the courses. It wasn’t until Mrs. Corden started talking about the piano forte that gossip started up again on their side of the table.

“What are they talking about?” Mr. Grimshaw asked after he drank some wine.

“Oh,” Harry said with an eyeroll. “Mr. Chalamet was gifted a piano forte this morning and no one knows who gave it to him. It is quite a mystery.”

“Really?” Mr. Grimshaw said.

Harry looked over at Nick. “Why do you smile?” he chuckled.

Mr. Grimshaw seemed to check himself there. “Smile? Nay why do you,” he laughed.

“I smile at absurdities,” Harry said simply. “I wonder why such a gift wasn’t made before to Mr. Timothée, when he has been in Highbury before.”

“Perhaps Mr. Chalamet has never been staying here so long before,” Mr. Grimshaw offered.

Harry frowned. “No. That cannot be it.”

“So who gave it to him?” Nick mused. “Perhaps Mrs. Baxter? As a token of her friendship?”

Harry then remembered the story Miss Teasdale told. “What say you to Mr. Baxter?”

“Mister Baxter?” Mr. Grimshaw replied with a frown. “Why him?”

“Did you not hear of the incident in Weymouth? Timothée almost fell during a water party and Mr. Baxter saved his life. Miss Teasdale has never not stopped talking about it since it happened, going on and on how they owe Mr. Baxter his life.”

“Hm,” Mr. Grimshaw hummed. “I have not heard of it.”

“I have no doubt that this gift was an offering of love,” Harry said. He wondered if that was the real reason Timothée didn’t go to Ireland with them. Mr. Baxter was in love with him and his wife – rationally – couldn’t stand it! And Mr. Baxter would be so bold as to spend this expense on Timothée when he is hundreds of miles away?

“Of love?” Mr. Grimshaw asked as he looked over at Timothée, who was speaking with Mr. Rowland. “You have convinced me,” he said with a grin.

Dinner ended and as they walked into the drawing room, Harry heard Mr. Corden call for him.

“Mr. Styles!” he said gleefully. “We are in need of music and it would be an honor if you were the first to indulge us this evening. Will you play?”

Harry really wasn’t in the mood to play in front of a crowd for the night. “Oh I don’t know, Mr. Corden-”

“Maybe I should ask Mr. Chalamet then if you are unwilling?” he asked hopefully.

And that’s how Harry found himself sitting in front of the piano forte, ready to play a song he knew by memory. With Mr. Grimshaw behind him to turn the pages, Harry started to sing.

_“The water is wide, I cannot get over_

_Neither have, I wings to fly”_

Harry smiled as Nick joined him in song, delighted to know that he knew the tune as well.

_“Give me a boat that can carry two_

_And both shall row, my love and I”_

Mr. Grimshaw went, and they continued to sing together.

_“O, down in the meadows the other day_

_A-gath'ring flowers both fine and gay_

_A-gath'ring flowers both red and blue_

_I little thought what love can do_

_I leaned my back up against an oak_

_Thinking that he was a trusty tree;_

_But first he bent in and then he broke_

_And so did my false love to thee_

_A ship there is, and she sails the seas_

_She's laden deep, as deep can be_

_But not so deep, as the love I'm in;_

_I know not if I sink or swim_

_O, love is handsome and love is fine_

_And love's a jewel o while it is new_

_But when it is old, it groweth cold_

_And fades away, like morning dew”_

Once they were finished, the room exploded with applause, and Harry stood to take a bow, letting Mr. Grimshaw kiss his hand before he left. He retired to his own chair at the edge of the room, noticing that Mrs. Rowland was coming to speak with him.

“You did splendid, Harry,” she grinned. “But I have come on more pressing matters. Have you noticed anything different with Mr. Tomlinson?”

Harry glanced at his friend, who was standing near the piano forte while talking to Timothée. His clothing was no different from what he has worn in the past, and from their earlier conversation he didn’t note that his scent had changed. “No? Is there something different with him?”

“Well, Harry,” Sarah said. “I have made a match between Mr. Tomlinson and Mr. Chalamet!”

It suddenly felt like an iron ball was dropped on his stomach. “What?” Harry whispered harshly.

“Someone had to have sent him that piano forte! I have heard Mr. Tomlinson remark that Timothée has no instrument to play at his grandmother’s house, and lo and behold: a piano forte is delivered by a mysterious benefactor! How could it not be Mr. Tomlinson when he has no lack of capital? Surely it must have been him!”

Harry was still trying to wrap his mind around the concept of his Mr. Tomlinson with that ninny Mr. Chalamet. “Mr. Tomlinson? And Mr. Chalamet? No, Sarah, you must be mistaken!”

“But I’m sure I’m not! Who else could have sent him that piano forte?”

“Someone else who has Mr. Timothée’s fancy! Mr. Tomlinson may be gallant, but he is not secretive. Sending a gift like this – so boldly – is not like his character. It is not in his nature.” At least that was one rational Harry could count on. Everything about this is entirely unlike his friend.

“He may not be secretive,” Mrs. Rowland continued, “but he could be if he is in love! We have never seen Mr. Tomlinson in love, and this could very well be how he shows it.”

Harry still wanted to scream. “I could not consent to Mr. Tomlinson marrying! Donwell is to go to our nephew James!”

“It is not really your job to consent, dear Harry,” Sarah chuckled. “and I’m sure little James would be understanding of such a matter.”

“But Donwell will belong to him!” Harry cried. “Oh no, Mrs. Rowland. Mr. Tomlinson cannot marry. Not to Timothée of all people.”

“You have to admit Timothée does seem like a particular favorite of Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Because he is gallant towards him? Oh Sarah,” he sighed. “Do not put marriage into Mr. Tomlinson’s head. Why should he marry? He has his nephews and nieces. If he wanted to marry, he would’ve by now.” But now that Harry thought about it, he couldn’t remember a time when Mr. Tomlinson had shown an interest in a carrier.

“Well I never thought I would marry and yet,” she patted her bump, “look at me now. Mr. Tomlinson’s mind could very well change if he met the right person, as I did.”

Harry frowned deeply. Could it be possible that Mr. Tomlinson was just waiting for the right carrier to marry? And that carrier might be Timothée? “Can you imagine Miss Teasdale at Donwell? Haunting the Abbey?” Harry could picture it perfectly. Mr. Tomlinson having to sit there in his great house with Miss Teasdale went on and on about how fortunate he was for rescuing Timothée from ruin and marrying him.

“I am not saying I want Mr. Tomlinson to marry, Harry, but I am saying it could be a possibility if he truly loves him. And you know what else? Mr. Tomlinson sent his carriage for Timothée and his aunt while he himself rode here! Isn’t that fascinating? Mark my words, Harry, there is something going on between them.”

“Truly fascinating,” Harry said. He watched Timothée going to sit in front of the piano forte, and realized Louis was about to sing a duet with him.

“And look, they are to play together!”

Harry didn’t know why, but he felt empty as he watched them. If Mr. Tomlinson did in fact love Mr. Chalamet, then as his dear friend, he should be happy for them! But all he could feel was… a deep antipathy that consumed him. Maybe because Timothée did not deserve Mr. Tomlinson. But as he watched them start to sing together – goodness, Mr. Tomlinson really had a velvet soft singing voice that he had never noticed before, and it made his insides almost melt - and Timothée looking up at him which such a smile, there was something that curled in Harry’s stomach in the most revolting way.

Later, after the party was done and he was back at Hartfield, when his hair was put up in the rag ties and he was putting out the candles around his room, he still couldn’t shake the feeling of pure… uneasiness. To put it lightly. Maybe it was because he had known Mr. Tomlinson as a bachelor for his entire life, and seeing him married would change everything. No, he just had to hope that Sarah was wrong in her thinking, and it would amount to nothing. That was the only thing he could tell himself as he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

✺

“Welcome, gentleman,” Mr. Rowland smiled as they all walked into the drawing room at Randalls. “Many of you have already met my brother, but in case you haven’t, I would like to present Mr. Nick Grimshaw.”

The men gave hearty hellos. Mr. Tomlinson was not in the mood to come at all, but did not want to slight Mr. Rowland on his night to host the gentleman’s night. At least Niall was there to make it more bearable.

“Good evening to you all,” Mr. Grimshaw smiled as everyone stood to greet him while he went around the room. Louis didn’t find anything remarkable in him, so he never knew what the fuss was about.

“How are you enjoying Highbury, Mr. Grimshaw?” Mr. Corden asked once they were all seated around the room, puffing at his own cigar.

“I adore it,” Mr. Grimshaw smiled. “For years I have longed to come back here – my original home and where my dear brother still lives – and I was finally given the chance.”

“And how do you find the new Mrs. Rowland?” Mr. Horan asked. “She was very well liked among our society before she caught Mitch’s eye.” Louis looked over to see a small blush on Mr. Rowland’s cheeks.

“I think my new sister in law is one of the most splendid carriers I have ever seen,” Nick grinned, “so I have no idea how my brother managed to catch someone like her!” The men gave hearty laughs around the room, and Louis only managed a small grin. Even if Mr. Rowland lacked the outgoing personality his brother had, that did not mean he wasn’t allowed to have a pretty wife. Especially when Sarah was just as reserved as him in every way. But as men usually did, they thought her surface level beauty was all that mattered, not what she had within.

“And how about the unmarried carriers of Highbury?” Mr. Smith asked. “I am sure you find them beautiful, and possibly catch one for yourself!”

 _They’re not fish_ , Louis wanted to retort but held his tongue.

“I do,” Nick grinned with a nod. “The hospitality I have received since coming here has been outstanding, and I’m not sure how I could ever leave!”

“Ah,” Mr. Corden nodded. “My wife has told me you are often seen with Mr. Styles? Now he is a very eligible carrier.”

“Who had no plans to marry,” Louis remarked, finally speaking up. They all turned to face him, murmuring their agreeance.

“That is true,” Mr. Rowland said, “but I am sure Harry will marry if the right gentleman asks him. Would you not all agree?”

Having known Harry all his life, Louis knew that Harry’s marriage forbiddance was not set in stone. Of course, he could eventually marry, but that didn’t mean the men of Highbury should already be marrying him off to Mr. Grimshaw!

“I think that is something Mr. Styles would have to decide on his own,” Nick said easily. “Besides, I do have a question to pose to you all. Is Mr. Winston the vicar here?”

“Oh yes,” Mr. Horan replied. “But he has been in Bath for weeks now, so he should be returning soon.”

“He will return with a wife,” Mr. Grimshaw said, smiling slightly.

A lot of the men gasped as Mr. Tomlinson frowned. “How do you know that?” Mr. Corden cried.

“We seem to have a few mutual friends, and one of them told me that his friend the vicar was recently engaged to a Miss Susanna Lawrence, who has twenty thousand a year and is said to be very pretty.”

So the vicar had found himself a wife. Well, let’s hope she would actually be a good addition to Highbury and not be an annoyance. It only made Louis wonder if Harry was already aware of the news.

✺

“Mr. Grimshaw is here to see you, sir,” Bartholomew said once he came through the door. Harry put his book down as he nodded, standing to receive him. “Send him in.”

Mr. Grimshaw came in as the servant shut the door behind him. He was dressed in a pale green riding coat, yet the dust on it made it look like he had ridden to Hartfield in haste. He was about to speak, but Harry put his fingers to his lips as he nodded towards his grandfather, who was asleep in his chair by the fire. It was the middle of the day, but Mr. Warwick would sleep at all hours of the day.

“Hello,” Harry whispered loudly as he beckoned him to come. “Do sit down.”

“I thank you,” Mr. Grimshaw whispered, going over to sit next to him on the window seat.

Harry waited until Nick began to speak with a confused look on his face, as if he was fishing for the right words to say. “I come on ill tidings.”

“What has happened?”

“My aunt demands I go back to Yorkshire.”

Harry frowned. “How sad,” he mused. “I hope she is not unwell.”

“I believe she is not,” Nick replied, “but she still asks that I go back to Enscombe. I expect her to be fully recovered by the time I arrive. But you see I cannot refuse her.”

“Of course you cannot,” Harry replied with a sigh. “I suppose you must be leaving this very day.”

“Yes, I’m afraid, I am.”

Harry wondered if it was so hasty that he couldn’t even call on other families in Highbury. “Did you have time to call on Miss Teasdale and her nephew?”

“I did have the time,” Mr. Grimshaw replied. “I was passing by the door and thought it right to say my goodbyes.” He paused in thought. “There is something that I wanted to confess, Mr. Harry. Before I leave.”

Now that surprised him. What could be so pressing that he had to confess it before he was due back in Yorkshire? “You are free to speak.”

“I consider you to be a very clever person, Mr. Styles. And I think you might have figured out a secret of mine. I wonder if you suspected,” he chuckled. “Well of course you have. You have to know that I hold someone in high regard and they have my special affections.”

Suspicion? Affections? Did he mean of love? Was Harry about to get his second proposal in less than two months? Oh no. He was not even sure if he loved Mr. Grimshaw to begin with. How could he accept a proposal like this?

“I-”

The bell rang, and Mr. Grimshaw slowly rose as Harry slowly let go of the breath he did not know he was holding. “I’m sorry. That is probably my brother since we agreed we would meet here and then go back to Randalls. It would be best not to disturb Mr. Warwick.”

“Of course,” Harry said as he stood in front of him.

“Goodbye for now,” Nick said, taking his hand to kiss. After assuming that he would’ve gotten a love confession had it not been for the interruption, Harry thought that he would at least feel something when he felt Nick’s lips touch his bare hand, but in reality he felt nothing. At least he avoided a possible proposal yet again. But if he could eventually love Nick Grimshaw, shouldn’t he be wanting him to propose? Maybe he could never love him, but time would have to tell.

For now, Harry watched him walk away, and went back to his book once the door closed, hoping to think about such feelings later.

✺

“Good evening, Mr. Tomlinson,” came a voice from the door.

Louis looked up to see his steward, dressed in his usual brown vest while carrying papers under his arm. “Hello, Mr. Rodgers. Do sit down.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tomlinson,” he said as he sat in front of his desk, laying out the papers in front of him. “Mr. Wright sent me more papers from Kent. I have read more scientific papers on this new way of farming that I thought you should see, and Mr. Wright says this is the way we should give to the tenants.”

“I see,” Mr. Tomlinson said, putting down his quill. “I will look them over this evening. Thank you for bringing them in.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“Any news from town?” he asked as he glanced over one of the papers.

“Ah yes! Mr. Grimshaw has left town. As of yesterday.”

Now that was surprising. “Left? Why?” Mr. Rowland didn’t mention his brother was going to leave anytime soon

“I think his aunt demanded him back in Enscombe.”

“Goodness,” Louis replied. And good riddance, he wanted to add, but not in front of his steward. “She does have him like a dog.”

“If I may be so bold, sir,” Mr. Rodgers said. “I have heard that Mr. Grimshaw often spent his time in London before he came to Highbury. To gamble. That sort of thing.”

“Are you suggesting he is in fact leaving to London and not Yorkshire?”

Calvin shrugged. “I could not say. I have just heard rumors that he used to stay in London with friends.”

“Well the man is free to do as he pleases,” Louis said. He just hoped Harry wasn’t too attached to the bastard. It seemed like being with Mr. Grimshaw was just a recipe for a broken heart.

✺

In the weeks that followed Mr. Grimshaw’s departure, Harry thought he would miss his presence more. He was, after all, so entertaining. Instead, Harry found himself keeping busy and barely thinking of him, going days without a thought unless someone like Mrs. Rowland brought him up.

After Charlotte asked him if he had heard anything about Nick, it made Harry question whether he cared for him at all. Did Mr. Grimshaw even favor him? He was warm towards him, but then again he was warm and welcoming to anyone around him. Then there was that almost proposal, but he still knew he didn’t want a proposal from him just yet.

“I must not be in love with him then,” Harry reasoned to himself. “He is undoubtedly very much in love with me, though, so I must not encourage it.” He didn’t need another Mr. Winston accident. So if and when Mr. Grimshaw was to return, Harry knew he had to curb any feelings Nick might have for him.

One day he was in the garden with Mr. Tomlinson, taking a turn around the shrubberies. Mr. Warwick was sitting in the shade, reading a book that Mr. Tomlinson had brought for him.

“I have some news for you, Harry,” Mr. Tomlinson said suddenly as Harry bent over to pick some daisies.

“Oh?” He stood back up, flowers in hand. “Do tell!”

“Mr. Winston is married. He has a wife now.”

A shudder went down his spine. “Is he? Poor woman,” he said bluntly as they continued to walk.

“I’m surprised by you, Harry. I thought you wanted to see the vicar married? Or are you cross because you didn’t match them yourself?”

“Thoughts change, Mr. Tomlinson,” he said with a sigh. “I could care less about how this match happened. Who is she?”

“I don’t know her first name, but she is from a wealthy family. He met her in Bath, of course, so their acquaintance must not have been that long but they still married.”

“Seven weeks,” Harry stated as he did the math. “Entirely too short!” But leave it to Mr. Winston to marry the first woman he finds because he did not accept his marriage proposal. What a disgraceful man.

“They are coming to Highbury next week,” Mr. Tomlinson said. “And then we shall all meet her.”

“How fun,” Harry said with sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I guess Mr. Winston shall be getting to know her at the same time we are.”

“Surely,” Mr. Tomlinson chuckled.

They continued to walk in silence. All this talk of marriage had Harry suddenly remembering what Sarah told him at the Corden’s party. Was Louis actually in love with Mr. Chalamet? “How about you, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Me?”

“How long do you think you would like to know a carrier before marrying them?”

Mr. Tomlinson seemed to genuinely ponder his question. “A long time, I hope. Enough to know exactly how their person is. I’d like to know who I’m marrying.”

“That’s what I thought.” Not that he actually cared if Louis _was_ attracted to Timothée Chalamet, but at least he knew he wouldn’t try to marry him any time soon. If Mr. Tomlinson was married, then he couldn’t come to Hartfield every day and sit with them as he usually does. Harry was not ready to lose him as a friend in any degree. So Sarah must be wrong. For all of their sakes.


	3. Spring

Mr. Winston arrived with his new bride on a cloudy morning in mid March, the cold air setting in as their carriage rolled through the main road of Highbury. And said woman was to be invited to Hartfield of course, even if Harry didn’t want it. He thought their first meeting would be at church on Sunday, but Mr. Winston brought her over only two days after they arrived, both of them looking smug when they were announced. Mr. Winston was in his normal vicar wear, but the new Mrs. Winston was dressed in the latest London fashion, at least from the descriptions he heard from Zayn. She had on a pale grey dress with lace trim, complete with satin gloves. Her eyes were blue, with blonde ringlets of curls around her face. After handing her bonnet off to the servants, she proceeded to look around the foyer, clearly inspecting it with an arched brow.

“Mr. Warwick, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Winston said. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife: Susanna Winston.”

“Good day, Mrs. Winston,” Mr. Warwick said. “We welcome you to Hartfield.”

“A pleasure,” Harry said with a nod. “I hope you are enjoying Highbury?”

“Yes!” she cried. “It is nothing like Bath, but I told my _carra esposo_ that I would follow him to the ends of the earth to live with him. And here I am!”

“Here you are,” Harry nodded, leading them into the drawing room. Of course she would be the type to quote random Italian phrases in her wording. Harry wasn’t that well versed in the language, but he was pretty sure she used the wrong word anyway!

“Oh Mr. Styles,” she said as Mr. Warwick walked behind with Mr. Winston, looping her arm with his, a motion that displayed far more familiarity than Harry was comfortable with. “I do pity your situation.”

“My situation?” Harry asked, eyebrows slightly raising at the notion he would be pitied in his own home.

“Your grandfather!” she said. “The poor man must never get out and you are then bereft of society! I cannot imagine never traveling from my childhood home! Why do you both not try Bath? The waters would do Mr. Warwick absolutely well and you will be exposed to more sophisticated people, since you have lived _such_ a secluded life! Why, a line from me will open up a host of new acquaintances and the absolute best society!”

Insufferable. To even think that he should need the patronage of her in order to go into Bath? Or any busting society? Harry might not travel as often as others, but that did not mean he had to rely on virtual strangers to get him anywhere in this world. With 30,000 a year, he was quite content with knowing he would do good in any polite society that he decided to visit, Mrs. Winston approving or not. Harry calmly took a breath before answering. “He tried Bath many years ago, before I was even born, and it did him no good, Mrs. Winston.”

“But-”

“And I thank you for your kindness,” Harry cut her off with a smile, patting her hand that was still on his arm.” But the tea has now arrived, and I look forward to hearing what your husband has to say about your honeymoon!” That was the last subject he wanted to hear about, but at least it seemed to quiet her as they entered the sitting room.

Servants brought out the tea and biscuits, placing all the delicacies in the table in front of them, with Harry sitting across from them as Mrs. Winston continued to talk.

“This house is very like my brother’s house of Maple Grove,” she said as she looked around after Harry handed her her tea. “Yes. Quite so. Is it not like his house, dear husband?”

“Yes I-”

She suddenly stood up with a gasp. “And the staircases! The staircases we passed when we arrived! Yes the staircases are just like the ones at Maple Grove! I’d say placed in the same part of the house! Oh how lovely,” she smugly grinned as she sat back down.

Now, Harry liked to pride himself on his manners. As one of the leading figures in Highbury, it was his duty to behave as a carrier did. And had Mrs. Winston been of a lower birth, he would have excused such manners. But never in his life had he seen a carrier of their standing behave this way, and not even realize their bad manners in company. It was obvious that while she might be a gentleman’s daughter, she certainly didn’t behave like one. “Well-”

“I say, Mr. Styles, it is such a relief to be reminded of a place I hold so dearly to my heart like Maple Grove,” she went on with a hand over her heart, “and comforting as well. For I dearly miss everything that is far from Highbury.”

“An incredible residence in fact,” Mr. Winston added.

“If you are transplanted, as if I have been,” Mrs. Winston said with a pointed stare, “you would understand how lovely it is to be reminded of what you left behind.”

Harry did not need to be reminded that he had never left Highbury, not even for London, but Mrs. Winston seemed to be aware of this fact and wanted to throw it in his face.

“But not only am I enraptured with Highbury for its beauty, but the people that live here! Oh they are far better than expected. I’ve grown fond of Mr. Chalamet,” Mrs. Winston said. “So innocent and poor. Exactly the type of person that would benefit from my help! I shall make sure to invite him to our house for daily talks. I hear he is to be a tutor, and with my connections in Bath, I know I will be able to find him suitable employment once the Spring is over. Isn’t that nice?”

For once, Harry felt sorry for Timothée. He couldn’t imagine having to spend every day with this woman.

“And what pleasant people the Rowlands are! I was astonished to find Mrs. Rowland to be so ladylike. Was she not your governess?” Harry knew that it was not very carrier-like, but he desperately wanted to throw his teacup at her face. How dare she imply that just because Sarah was his governess, she would not be ladylike. Where else did he learn his perfect manners from! “And who should call upon while we were there? Tomlinson! Tomlinson himself!” she laughed. “Mr. W would always talk about his friend ‘Mr. Tomlinson’ but I knew he would not be a shameful friend! He is everything a gentleman should be!”

Harry nearly crushed the scone he held in his hand.

Charlotte came to visit after they left, and Harry could only rant in her presence once she settled in.

“Oh, Charlotte!” he said as he flopped on his bed. “She is a dreadful person. Upstart, vulgar being. What a gentlewoman indeed!”

“What did she say?”

“What didn’t she say! Tomlinson?” Harry cried. “I’ve known him my entire life and I’ve never called him ‘Tomlinson’! And to discover that he is a _gentleman_? Him? The owner of Donwell Abbey? For shame to even think he wouldn’t be a gentleman! Just because we are a small, quiet village does not make us Neanderthals!”

“She sounds horrible,” Charlotte grimaced as she sipped her tea. “Poor Mr. Winston.”

“Well he is the one who chose her!” Harry replied with a snort. “He clearly only wanted her money and is happy to be treated like a servant in his own marriage.”

“You’re right,” she sighed. “I guess your rejection drove him to her.”

Harry laughed. “Well better her than me marrying him.” He liked to think himself lucky for having escaped from a man like Mr. Winston.

“And you would hate to be the Winston carrier,” Charlotte giggled.

“Yes I would” Harry sighed. “Has anything happened between you and Mr. Heyer?” Talking of Mr. Winston reminded him of the man Charlotte genuinely wanted to marry. He depended on Charlotte to tell him about the farmer, but he couldn’t remember any updates she had on him.

“Oh no,” she shook her head. “But despite my mother’s concerns, I still correspond with him. He leaves me letters in a tree by the river, a place where he used to take me for picnics, and I leave a letter for him there when I reply. Just as we agreed to before.”

“So I can see you enjoy Highbury,” Harry chuckled. “Well, I hope something can come out of it for you, Charlotte. You deserve to be happy with the man of your choice.”

With all this marriage talk, it made Harry wonder if he were ever going to marry as well. He liked to say that he would never, but the idea of spending the rest of your life with someone never appealed to him when he thought marriages would end up like Mr. Winston and his wife. But he thought of Zayn and Liam, and Sarah and Mitch, and well… he did not think it a bad idea to marry someone who was more than a companion, more than a friend. Someone who understood him, made him laugh, made him want to carry his children.

As amiable as Mr. Grimshaw turned out to be, he wasn’t sure if he was to be the man for him. Whenever Harry thought of him, he didn’t think he felt any love towards him. So he must not be the man he was to marry. If only he found this person already. Because the more he thought of it, the more he would like to be married.

✺

On a bright day in April, a dinner was to be had at Hartfield, and of course Mr. and Mrs. Winston were to be invited as Harry threw the dinner party in her honor, as a new bride. He didn’t want to, but it was the proper thing to do. Everyone in Highbury had already invited the new Mrs. Winston as the guest of honor at all of their own houses, and it would be seen as a deep slight if Harry didn’t throw one for her as well. Not that he was looking forward to it, since all she did at Mr. Corden’s dinner party was complain that the meal was served an hour late – unlike the time at Bath – and that there weren’t enough manservants walking around the room while they played cards. Harry couldn’t wait to hear what scruples she had about how Hartfield was run. At least Mrs. Rowland was there, proudly showing her round belly in her new blue dress. Mr. Tomlinson was present as well, sitting next to Mrs. Winston as she babbled on about Timothée, who sat across from her and looked rather pale. Thankfully Miss Teasdale declined their invitation on account of a headache, so at least she wasn’t about to give Harry one.

“Now, Timothée,” Mrs. Winston began. “We must be making more inquiries for your employment! One of my sisters-in-law relatives is in need of a tutor. They have 15,000 a year! You already gave up an employment opportunity where you would’ve had wax candles in the schoolroom! So you better take this offer up, my dear.”

“I thank you, Mrs. Winston,” Timothée replied. “But I shall stay in Highbury for the summer and would rather not respond to inquiries before then. My friends the Baxter’s have written to me to say they would like to visit me in August, and I should like to be available to them during that time.”

“But, Mr. Chalamet!” She gasped. “If you wait until the summer – my goodness! – you shall miss out on all the prime employment opportunities! No one will be hiring in the summer! All the best spots will be taken up by then and you’ll have nowhere to go!”

“I understand but-”

“Mr. Tomlinson!” Mrs. Winston cried. “Tell him that he must do what I say! He will lose some of the best employment if he does not allow me to write.”

Harry looked over to see what the older man’s reaction would be. “I think it best to let Mr. Chalamet decide what is best for him,” Mr. Tomlinson replied calmly. “Only he knows what he truly wants.”

“But-”

The door rang from the front, and Harry waited until a servant appeared in the doorway to announce whoever had arrived.

“Mr. Rowland, sir,” Charles said with a bow, stepping away to allow the man to enter.

“Good evening everyone!” he said cheerfully, clearly having just ridden horseback. His clothing was still dirty from the dust, but his rare smile meant it was worth coming all the way to Hartfield without changing first.

“Oh, Mr. Rowland!” Harry said as the men stood up to greet him. “Do sit down. Have you eaten?”

“I have, dear Harry, thank you,” Mitch smiled. “But I have come to announce precious news!”

“Well do tell, Mr. Rowland,” Mrs. Winston said as she sipped her drink.

“My brother is coming back to Surrey! Our aunt and uncle have taken a house in Richmond – better air or something for her health – and he can ride as often as he wants to Highbury. He shall be with us once again!”

“What excellent news,” Mrs. Rowland said as Harry nodded.

“And because he is back, we shall finally be holding your ball, Harry! I will start making the arrangements tomorrow morning.”

“Oh how wonderful!” Harry cried as their party cheered.

“And how nice that I am finally here to help you all arrange it!” Mrs. Winston grinned. “For I do not think any of you have the expertise of social occasions as I do.”

Harry looked around the room to see everyone looking at her with wide eyes, including Mr. Tomlinson. The insults this woman would throw seemed to be endless, but not even that could damper Harry’s spirits. Finally, a ball in Highbury. A reason to dance! He could hardly believe it.

✺

“Will you be attending the ball?” Mr. Horan asked.

Mr. Tomlinson decided to spend a few hours relaxing in his garden a few evenings later, having his dogs at his feet while he conversed with Niall. Since the Irishman was traveling the country, he spent little time in Highbury, barely having time to stop in. So Louis enjoyed what little time he had to talk with him.

“Why would I want to go watch people dance?” he sighed. He did not like to dance, even though he spent his early years enjoying it. He was a good dancer – at least he thought so – but he just could not find the joy in it as he once did.

“Because it would be fun! Besides, an esteemed gentleman like yourself should be seen at these sort of events. They are rare in Highbury as you know. To be social!”

“I socialize as much as it is,” Louis scoffed. “We both know Highbury doesn’t have the type of society where everyone must be seen.”

“Yes but there are so few balls around that everyone who is of importance will be at the one at the Inn.”

“I know Harry is going,” Louis sighed. “I know I should go too.”

And he knew Harry must be dreadfully excited to go to this one.

“That reminds me,” Niall said as he threw the ball for the dog. “You know what I witnessed a few days ago?”

“What?”

“I was out buying oils and you know who I saw? Nick Grimshaw. He pretended not to notice me and left before I could approach him.”

Ah. The oils. Only gentlemen went to such discreet places to buy such things when needed. “I guess that means he is sleeping with someone,” Mr. Tomlinson said, not really caring who it was.

“But who?” Mr. Horan asked. “In Highbury? He wouldn’t be buying oils right now if he didn’t have a partner, and prostitutes always have their own.”

Louis shrugged. “Probably someone of no consequence. Gentlemen are always discreet about such things.”

“And I happened to see what kind of oils he bought,” Niall said with a smug grin. “Cherry scented.”

“I did not need to know that,” Louis groaned. “I don’t care what that man does in his private time. Much less what flavor he is saturating his partner in.”

That did disgust him, however. It was well known that a potential match could be between him and Harry. How dare he sleep with others while pursuing Harry’s hand? And was Harry even aware of this? Then a darker thought passed through his head: Harry was the one sharing his bed, not random carriers like they thought.

No. Harry was not that kind of carrier. He wouldn’t let himself be compromised like that. Not before an engagement would be announced. At least… he thought so. He hoped so.

✺

The night of the ball came, and it was everything Harry imagined. The Crowne Inn was decorated ever so spectacularly – with his help of course – and he was very proud of it. Golden trim was hung along the windows, candles lit in every possible corner. The tables were set with elaborate center pieces that he had curated along with the servants, with flowers and lace put together in each vase. They had brought in leaves to hang around as well, with berries to accentuate them.

He wore his new mauve coat, leaving three buttons of his shirt out so his necklace could be appreciated. It was a gold necklace that his father had given his mother when they were courting, and Harry only liked to bring it out for special occasions. It had a pearl in the center of rose petals, attached to the gold chain.

Everything looked perfect as he walked around, smiling as he greeted people around the room. He spotted Mr. Tomlinson standing at the other end of the room, talking with some of the older gentlemen.

“Mr. Grimshaw has arrived!” someone called, and Harry turned to look at him. Nick strode into the room, and once he spotted Harry, immediately walking towards him. He thought of their last meeting, wondering if Nick still felt as he did. Would he actually propose this time?

“Mr. Harry,” he smiled wide, looking dashing in a red coat. “What a pleasure to be back in Highbury,” he stated while kissing his hand. And just as before, Harry felt nothing.

 _I am not in love with him_. And he was, surprisingly, okay with that. Nick was not to be the man for him at all.

“You have been missed, Mr. Grimshaw,” Harry chuckled.

“Have I?” he grinned. “Well you can rightfully assume I am happy to be a citizen of Highbury once again. Have the Winstons arrived yet?”

Harry frowned. “The Winstons? Why?”

“Because- uh,” he chuckled. “Well, I have heard so much about Mrs. Winston and would like to personally meet her!”

“You want to see how vulgar she is for yourself?” Harry scoffed.

“Yes,” Mr. Grimshaw laughed. “I shall go see if they arrived. Until our dance, Harry.”

Harry nodded as he watched him walk away, and decided to walk in the opposite direction until he found Charlotte, marveling over her dress while they walked over to Mr. and Mrs. Rowland discussing something.

“Charlotte? Are you alright?” Harry asked as they walked beside each other, noticing how her frown seemed to deepen.

She looked over at him. “Oh, I am. It’s just-” she tried to smile but it did not reach her eyes. “Oh. I have not received a letter from Mr. Heyer for 2 weeks now. I do not know what happened, and I was so worried. Until yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“I walked over to Abbey Mill Farm, and I saw him talking to a woman! Miss Fox! He seemed particularly animated while talking to her, walking along the fields together like he used to take me.”

“The attorney's daughter?” Harry gasped. He didn’t want to believe that Mr. Heyer was no longer interested in Charlotte, but this behavior was strange. “Do you think there is something between them?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte sniffed. “But he has not written me a letter in so long and to see him inviting someone else to his farm… I don’t know what to think. And I heard that Mr. Heyer was invited to dine at the Fox house a few nights ago. Oh, Harry.”

Harry sighed. “Well there is no use thinking of that now. This is your first Highbury ball! Let us make the most of it and not think of things that will make you sad.”

“You are right, Harry,” she said with a sad smile. “I-”

“Oh Mr. Harry!” came a shrill voice, and Harry looked up to see Miss Teasdale walking towards them. “Oh Mr. Harry, you have decorated this place to look like a fairy land! Straight out of a book! You must’ve had Aladdin’s lamp my goodness!”

“Thank you, Miss Teasdale,” he smiled. “I’m glad you’re enjoying your time here.”

“And did you see my Timothée? He sewed his entire outfit himself! I don’t think a tailor from London could’ve done a better job!”

Harry glanced over at Mr. Chalamet, looking at his outfit. He was dressed in a light grey jacket, with a dark colored shirt underneath. It wasn’t anything remarkable, but it did look well made even if he did sew it himself. “It looks exceptionally well,” Harry remarked, knowing Miss Teasdale would preen.

“Oh thank you, Mr. Styles! You are always so kind, so kind. Oh there is Mrs. Roberts! I shall go see her!”

And just as she left and Harry turned to Charlotte, someone else walked towards them. “Harry,” Sarah said as she walked up to them with her husband. “It has come to our attention that Mrs. Winston expects to be asked to start the dance since she is the newest bride of the town.”

Oh how Harry forgot about that stupid rule. “But we don’t want Nick to break his promise to you,” Mitch said. “Since I am throwing this ball in Nick’s honor, I shall ask her!”

“And I shall not be dancing in my condition,” Sarah explained as she held her bump, “I am more than happy to let Mr. Rowland dance with others.”

“A bride must come first. It is almost enough to make me think of marrying,” Harry huffed to Charlotte.

The music was about to start, and Harry went to the line as Mr. Grimshaw stood across from him.

“Mr. Styles?” Nick smiled.

“Mr. Grimshaw.”

“How did you like Mrs. Winston?” he whispered.

“I don’t like her at all,” Mr. Grimshaw laughed. And that was all Harry needed to hear. At least he wouldn’t be singing her praises as everyone else seemed to do.

“And what of Mr. Chalamet?” Harry giggled. “I think he arrived with her as well.”

“Oh he looks so sickly and plain!”

“Hush!” Harry gasped. “You cannot say such things!” As entertaining as it was to hear Mr. Grimshaw’s dislike over Timothée, it wasn’t proper to be _that_ cruel in public.

“Then let us dance!” Mr. Grimshaw grinned.

Harry took his place in the circle, waiting to move until the dancing started. A hush came over the crowd as the musicians started to play.

Mrs. Winston started the dance with Harry, everyone watching as they were the first carriers to switch places in the circle. Then Mr. Rowland and Mr. Grimshaw danced to replace each other as well, and the other opposing dancers did the same until everyone was in a line, ready to create a bridge with their partners arms to allow Mrs. Winston and Mr. Rowland to go under first.

“Oh look at Mr. Styles dancing with Mr. Grimshaw,” he could hear Miss Teasdale saying. “What a lovely couple they make!” She seemed to be talking with Mr. Tomlinson’s group.

But the more Harry danced with Nick, the more he realized he was not, and has never been, in love with him. Perhaps it was a mere infatuation, but Mr. Grimshaw seemed to acknowledge him as a friend. Yes, it would be better to keep him as a friend of his inner circle, for he was entertaining to the greatest extent.

The first dance ended, everyone bowing to each other as they clapped for the band that was playing from above. With a few minutes until the next dance, Harry went over to Mr. Tomlinson. “Why are you not dancing?” he whispered harshly.

“Good evening to you too, Dear Harry,” Louis lightly chuckled. “You know I do not dance.”

“But-”

“Mr. Styles!” came from behind, and saw Mr. Grimshaw approaching to take his hand. “The next dance is starting.” And pulled Harry away before he could finish what he had to say.

Even if the second dance was slower than the first, it still made Harry smile to dance around the room. But it worried him to not see Charlotte dancing, though, looking around to see where she was. There were more than enough men lolling about for them to ask, but she seemed content in sitting next to Mrs. Rowland and talking. It was at that moment that Mr. Winston approached them.

“Do you not dance, Mr. Winston?” Sarah asked the vicar.

“Most readily, Mrs. Rowland!” he grinned. “If you would do me the honor of dancing with me.”

“I am not dancing tonight,” she laughed as she held her bump. “But I do know a young lady that is otherwise disengaged. Miss Clark?”

Harry turned to see what Mr. Winston’s reaction would be. Surely he would not snub her.

“Ah,” Mr. Winston replied. “Miss Clark. I did not see her there. I’m sorry, but I am an old married man now. I have no reason to dance, now that I think of it.”

 _Oh what a fool,_ Harry wanted to scream as Mr. Grimshaw twirled him. How dare he slight Charlotte that way. He could barely pay attention to the dance, as his feet knew the steps without his brain bothering to think of it. He took a glance around the room to see Charlotte looking as if she was going to cry as Sarah gently patted her back, and Harry couldn’t bear to watch.

While he was plotting how to gut Mr. Winston by the end of the night, Harry watched as Mr. Tomlinson made his way over to her, and then took her to dance, easing the tension in Harry’s chest. He smiled when she joined the line, laughing once it was her turn to dance down the line with Louis.

And oh! Mr. Tomlinson could dance. And very well for that matter. Why did he not mention this before? Harry noted his excellent footwork, how he moved right in tune with the music, knowing all the steps to the song. And there were smiles all around once the dance ended, with Harry sharing a look with Mr. Tomlinson as it did.

Dinner was a splendid occasion. After taking off his gloves to eat, he decided to keep them in his pocket once he was done, and decided to take a turn around the room, standing near the edge of it as he watched people finish eating. Mr. Grimshaw was having a lively conversation with Miss Teasdale, with Timothée near them as well. Even though Harry was not in love with Nick Grimshaw, at least the man had brought much yearned for entertainment to Highbury.

Mr. Tomlinson walked up to him, bowing his head. “Hello, Harry.”

“Thank you. For Charlotte,” he said. “She was already feeling bad that her correspondence with Mr. Heyer stopped, and now this had to happen.”

“No need to thank me for that. I quite enjoyed dancing with her,” Louis smiled, “though I believe he aimed at wounding more than just Charlotte.”

Harry sighed. “I believed Mr. Winston to be in love with her, but it was not so.” He didn’t need to mention that the vicar was actually in love with him. “And the fact I thought he was interested in Charlotte was just insulting to him, and he nor his wife want to forgive me for that.”

“I see,” Mr. Tomlinson nodded.

Harry saw the vicar talking with his wife across the room. “Mr. Winston has a smallness about him that you saw and I did not,” he said with a sigh. “He is a small man, made smaller with his wife,” he giggled, trying to hide his smile, and Mr. Tomlinson let out a hearty laugh.

“She does you credit, Harry,” the older man said. “Ms. Clark has some first-rate qualities that Mrs. Winston severely lacks.”

“I would like to think so,” Harry chuckled. “Mr. Winston truly has such a littleness to him that you discovered. and I did not.”

“Mr. Winston would have chosen a far better wife in Miss Clark than the woman he actually married,” Mr. Tomlinson continued. “We should rejoice that Charlotte does not have to spend the rest of her life with him.”

“You are correct,” Harry nodded. There was always something comforting with Mr. Tomlinson near.

“Oh, Harry!” Mitch said as he walked up to them. “Please lead the next dance. Set an example for your companions! Everyone should be dancing now that dinner is finished.”

“I am ready, sir!” Harry laughed as Mr. Rowland walked away.

“With whom will you dance?” Louis asked, a smile in his voice.

The moment of Louis with Charlotte came back. He seemed to be enjoying himself, so there was no reason that Harry shouldn’t be allowed the same luxury with him.

“With… you,” Harry said simply, “if you’ll ask me. You’ve shown that you can dance, and we are not so much brothers to make it improper.

“Brothers?” Louis chuckled, with an eyebrow raise. “No we are not.” He offered his hand, and Harry noticed that he was gloveless as well. Which meant their bare hands were touching. Yet it felt nice to feel his warmth so directly as Mr. Tomlinson led him to the dance floor. He smiled as he realized Mr. Grimshaw has asked Charlotte to dance, standing next to her as they took their places. Mr. Rowland was dancing with Mr. Chalamet opposite of them, and it looked like every available carrier was dancing, except for Mrs. Winston who decided to opt out while arguing with her husband on one side of the room.

The music began from above, and all the partners reached for each other’s hands with the first steps. And with each step towards the other, only then Harry started to realize just how handsome Mr. Tomlinson looked in his evening jacket. It was all black, with white embroidery on the cuffs and silver buttons over his navy blue vest. His white pants shaped his legs very well, noticing just how rounded his thighs were against the fabric.

After Mr. Tomlinson turned him, Harry took a turn with Mr. Grimshaw and then Mr. Rowland, and each time he enjoyed dancing with either man, but he was eager to join Louis again. And once he did, they both smiled at each other from across the aisle, happy to see Louis in front of him once more.

They took steps towards each other again, with Harry feeling the heat of the other man’s hand in his own, skin touching skin. It was then that he realized he had not felt Mr. Tomlinson’s bare hand in years, probably since they were children. Once Louis started to behave in a more gentlemanlike manner, his hands were usually gloved when he was around, except when they ate together of course. But feeling the gentle caress of his fingers against his made Harry’s face flush, especially when it came time to dance up the aisle together. With their left hands holding each other in the front and their right hands holding each other on the small of Harry’s back, they marched to the beat of music, and Harry could’ve sworn one of Louis’ fingers was caressing his back as they danced. They then raised their left arms to form an arch above their heads, dancing in circles as they continued down the aisle. It was then that Harry was closer to Mr. Tomlinson’s face than he had ever been before, and he gripped the other man’s hand tighter as his breath left his lips. Were they always this beautiful shade of blue? There was a hint of a mischievous sparkle in them that hadn’t left since they were children, accentuated when he smiled, and they looked mesmerizing in the candlelight against the tint of his golden skin.

And they simply stood there gazing at each other while the music continued. He couldn’t know what Mr. Tomlinson was thinking at that moment, but it had to have been a hurricane of thoughts like Harry was experiencing at the moment. It wasn’t until another couple bumped into them that they both shuffled back into their places, not knowing what happened while staring at the other.

With his heartbeat ringing in his ears, they eased back into their first step as they lowered their arms, reaching the end of the aisle and stepping back in line until it was their turn to move again. He found Louis staring at him intently, his gaze ever so firm with his bright eyes. They then started to move towards one another again, their shoulders touching before moving back to their respective spaces, and doing the same until their other shoulders touched. And each time Harry could’ve sworn he felt the heat of Mr. Tomlinson’s skin through the multiple layers of clothing that lay between them, impossible as it may sound.

Then it came time for them to weave between partners until they were to be joined again, with Harry barely breaking his glance at Mr. Tomlinson as they moved down the aisle, even if Mr. Grimshaw gave him a smile and he couldn’t be bothered to reciprocate it. When he was finally reunited with Louis again, they joined hands and danced around each other as all the couples did, doing so once until they brought both arms up again in an arch, and with Louis’ hand firmly against the small of his back, Harry thought all the air of his lungs had left it, and it wasn’t because of the dancing.

And as they twirled in place, it felt like they were the only ones in the room. Harry couldn’t take his gaze off of him, like their eyes were bound to stare at one another forever, and neither wanted to break away even if they could. Harry could note the crinkles by Louis’ eyes, the light brush of silver hairs that adorned his head, the way his cheekbones glistened by candlelight. And simply staring into his eyes sent jolt through his spine, giving him goose pimples all over his body.

Everything felt so right, and yet nothing made sense. He knew the dance was ending, which meant they had to go back to their places and simply bow to each other to end it. So they let each other go, their fingers grazing the other for as long as they could before they were facing each other again. But instead of simply bowing, Harry found himself reaching across the aisle just as Mr. Tomlinson put out his hand, and Harry twirled into him until his left arm was holding the other man’s right hand across Harry’s chest, holding each other right at the carrier’s waist. Which meant Harry looked over his shoulder to meet Mr. Tomlinson’s gaze, his eyes trailing down to stare at his lips before looking back up at his eyes again. Which elicited a small gasp from Mr. Tomlinson, who had just let go of Harry’s hand and was gently caressing his waist until he had to let go of him completely.

Once the dance ended and they stood opposite of one another, Harry found himself breathless as he stared at Mr. Tomlinson. Louis. Suddenly he was no longer his dear friend of over twenty years, he was a _man_. A man that seemed to enflame something at his core, that made his heart flutter in ways that Mr. Grimshaw never did, that made all his senses stand at their toes in strain as they were desperate for a taste.

He didn’t know if it was good or bad that Mr. Tomlinson seemed to be realizing this as well, judging by the bewildered look in his eyes as he stared back at him. Something had changed between them, and Harry hoped they could resolve it before it ruined their friendship. And he didn’t even know what ‘resolving’ meant, but it needed to happen quickly. Before they totally lost their minds.

✺

Louis walked out into the morning air, tired yet still reeling from the dance. The sun was beginning to rise in the distance, and carriages were being called to the door as people left, and that only made him wish he actually took his carriage to the ball this time. For his feet ached from all the dancing. Well, the one dance he couldn’t stop thinking of. Harry’s eyes, hands, his skin… it was too much to think of and yet that was all his mind wanted to think of. After they finished, he decided to dance no more and instead was forced to watch Harry dance with Mr. Grimshaw for the remainder of the night.

But he knew it had affected Harry as well. He didn’t know if he was imagining it, but even while in Mr. Grimshaw’s arms, he would catch him glancing over to him.

As he walked outside the graveled walkway, he took a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. Harry, Harry, Harry. That’s what occupied his mind. He stopped next to a carriage, trying to compose himself before walking home and spending its entirety thinking of Harry. But he looked up and saw Harry sitting there in his own carriage, staring through the window. His expression was soft, his mouth slightly opening as if he was going to speak. Their eyes met, and Louis felt like his heart wanted to shout.

But the driver whipped the horses to leave, and Harry was pulled away from his sight. Louis watched it leave, heart sinking as he realized nothing had happened.

No. Their night couldn’t end like this. He could not go back to Donwell without at least acknowledging what happened between them. They had to talk. They needed it.

He raced after the carriage, hating every step in his shoes but running as fast as he could in them. He passed by the main road of the village, onto the road that led to Hartfield, no longer seeing the carriage but still running on until the main house came into view. Harry must’ve already exited the carriage, since it was pulling away to be near the stables. Undeterred, he continued to run, using every last breath that was left in his tired lungs. Thankfully all his work in the fields with his farmers had left him agile to run like this, for a few more years on his body and not walking as much as he did would’ve left him collapsed in the middle of the village.

He finally reached Hartfield, and ran into the courtyard, looking up to the window where Harry usually sat, and sure enough found him there, perched like an angel amongst the clouds. It only took a few seconds for Harry’s eyes to reach his own. Even from afar Louis could tell that the younger man’s eyes had widened as he saw him.

And then they locked eyes, staring at each other, waiting to see who would move. Mr. Tomlinson didn’t have to say a word – for Harry wouldn’t have heard it either way – but their eyes seemed to speak on their own, saying everything that was unsaid. Finally, Harry turned away for a few seconds and left the window all together.

Swallowing down the fear lodged in his throat, Louis took off his hat and gloves, feeling too hot and not right for Harry. After fixing his hair and trying to wipe the sweat off his brow, he looked up to see Harry running towards him, his eyes wide as he stopped a few feet in front of him.

Despite him coming to talk, Louis found no words leaving his mouth. Neither of them spoke, just stared at one another as their chests rose steadily.

And then came a noise from behind them. Harry leaned over to look behind him, and gasped. “Mr. Grimshaw? Charlotte?”

Louis turned to see Mr. Grimshaw holding Miss Clark’s entire body bridal style as she cried in pain, almost limp against him.

“I’m sorry to impose on you so early, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Grimshaw said in a strained voice as he hurried towards them. “But I happened to pass by the road to the Clarks and found Miss Clark on the floor, crying as she seemed to twist her ankle on the way back home. I quickly picked her up and decided to carry her here, since you were the closest house and would know what to do.”

“Oh you poor thing,” Harry cried. “Please put her in the drawing room!”

Already irritated that his moment with Harry had to be interrupted by Mr. Grimshaw of all people, Louis followed behind Harry as they rushed back into the house. Charlotte was laid on one of the sofas, moaning in pain while they all fussed about.

“Bartholomew!” Harry ordered, turning to look for his servant. “Please send for Doctor Roberts at once!”

“May I look at your foot for damage?” Louis asked her as she nodded with her eyes closed. He carefully took off her shoe and felt around the bone, trying to note if there was any damage before Doctor Roberts could arrive. But it was entirely hard to concentrate when Charlotte kept making the most…. interesting of noises. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but they sounded extremely sexual in nature. He pulled away quickly once he figured out there was no real damage to the bone.

“What are you doing here?” Mr. Grimshaw asked him once he stepped back.

Louis wanted to retort that he had every right to be there as he glanced at him. But then Mr. Warwick came running into the room. “What has happened? Is she dead?”

“We have sent for Doctor Roberts, Grandpapa,” Harry explained, holding Charlotte’s hand in his. “She is in no danger after a foot injury that Mr. Tomlinson already inspected, and we have Mr. Grimshaw to thank for rescuing her.”

Desperately needing to not see Harry and Mr. Grimshaw interact, Louis decided he would go home at that moment. “As I am no longer needed, I shall be leaving,” he announced. “Good morning, Mr. Warwick, Miss Clark, Mr. Grimshaw…,” he glanced over at Harry, who swallowed as he stared at him. “Harry.” And left before any of them could say anything.

Louis spent his entire walk thinking about everything and damning himself for not actually speaking with Harry. So he walked back to Donwell in a hurry, almost running there, wanting to get out of his clothes that just felt too tight over his body. But once he got there, he couldn’t bear to go to his rooms and instead went into one of the picture galleries that had the furniture covered. He threw off his jacket to the side, furiously unbuttoning his vest as he threw that off as well. Once he was left to his cotton shirt, he groaned as he collapsed to the ground, feeling boneless as he stared up at the ceiling. He wondered if whoever painted it would know he would one day he lying there in a state of heartbreak to gaze upon it.

It was too much. He definitely saw Harry in a new light now. Gone was the boy he had grown up with. Gone was the cherubic face he always saw when he looked at him. His curls were longer now, past his shoulders and looking like Botticelli painted them on him to frame his face like an angel. Gone were the curious glances of laughter he saw in Harry’s eyes, instead he saw lust, want, everything that he never associated with Harry before now replacing that. Gone was the way their hands would touch without a second thought in their friendship. The way Harry’s bare fingertips felt against his own had left a permanent scorched mark on his skin. Now everything was to be seen in a different light. Now stood a carrier before him that was… beautiful. Handsome. Pretty. Of a marrying age. A carrier who would bear his children.

He was utterly in love.

He put a hand to his head, groaning at the realization. He needed to talk with Harry. But then what would he say? He heard a door close in one corner of the room, probably a servant finding him in this state and rightfully deciding that he wanted to be alone.

Harry has utterly bewitched him, and he didn’t know whether that was a good or dreadful thing. Was he supposed to propose to him now? Would Harry even accept? Was Harry even in love with him as well? Then there was the problem that was Nick Grimshaw. It was clear that Harry favored him wherever they went, and there was no doubt in people’s minds that they were intended for one another. So was Louis supposed to stand aside and let that happen when he literally felt Harry opening his soul and imbedding himself there with such ease? No. Unless Harry felt even more for Mr. Grimshaw than whatever he felt for him, Louis would not let their relationship go so easy.

But the first step would be to actually talk to Harry, and he didn’t know where to begin.

✺

Harry went to visit the Clarks the day after Charlotte’s fall. Doctor Roberts said she simply had a twisted ankle, and it was best to let her rest for a few days and not put too much weight on it. So he found her perched up on her bed with pillows a plenty surrounding her, her long hair down around her shoulders, with a book in her hand as she smiled up to greet him.

“Hello, Harry,” she said, sitting up. “How nice of you to call.”

“Of course I would call!” he scoffed. “I wanted to know how you were doing. You looked ever so in pain yesterday.”

“Oh I was,” she shook her head with glee. “But truly, I am feeling much better today. Truly!”

Harry frowned, wondering why she was so cheerful, bordering on delirious. “Are you sure you’re well, Charlotte?” he asked.

“Oh Mr. Styles,” Charlotte sighed as she looked up to the ceiling. “I think I am in love again!”

“Again?” he gasped, eyebrows reaching his temple. “With who?”

“I could never name him,” she smiled, laying back against her pillows. “For he is so far above my station.”

“But what happened with Mr. Heyer?” he pressed. He didn’t think she would give up on that love so easily.

“Oh I would love to forget him,” she scorned. “If he wanted to marry one of the Gardner girls and never bothering to answer my letters then so be it. For I have found a gentleman that is truly the perfect man for me in every way.”

“I see,” Harry nodded. So Charlotte was still hurt by his lack of attention, which any carrier would feel the sting of in a situation like this. “And why can you not name the gentleman that has your heart now?”

“I believe I am being too presumptuous,” she smiled shyly. “For it only started a day ago. The very recollection of it… going from the ultimate misery in humiliation to…. perfect happiness. For he rendered me a great service.”

And that’s when a spark lit in Harry’s mind. The great service Mr. Grimshaw did by saving her from the road after the ball? Indeed! Now that Harry knew he would not fall in love with Mr. Grimshaw, what better way for him to make a proper match than with Charlotte! Harry’s cupid arrow was quickly sharpening itself in his satchel.

“We shall not say his name,” Harry giggled, grabbing both of her hands. “But I will say that you have made a fine choice. And do not think that a marriage may not happen! There have been many happy marriages of greater disparity before, and while your fortune comes from trade, you are still a respectable carrier! I am sure he will have no scruples with your background if you are truly in love.”

“Oh Harry,” she smiled widely. “If only I knew for sure.”

“And as your friend,” he continued. “I must caution you on one aspect. Do not give your heart away so easily, or else it will end badly for you. Let his feeling toward you dictate how you act, and make sure that he shares the same feelings that you are experiencing now.” Though he still hoped Mr. Heyer would come around, Harry was still excited at the notion of a match between Charlotte and Nick. She would live a life of true luxury as Mrs. Grimshaw, carrier of Enscombe in Yorkshire. Oh what a match it would be indeed!

“I shall, Harry,” she giggled. “I shall. But for now, the simple thought of him in my mind will keep me happy. For it makes me ever so giddy to think of him.”

“Well there is no harm in thinking,” Harry chuckled, patting her hand. “And while his name shall not pass through our lips, I want you to know that I greatly approve of the gentleman in question. He is everything you could want in a future husband!”

“I knew you would agree!” Charlotte laughed. “And now you can continue to work your magic as a matchmaker with me, Harry. Oh, to be married and away from my mother. I shall truly be the happiest girl alive once I am married with my true love and far from this place, even though I will miss my father and brothers.”

Harry thought about how painful it was when Zayn left Hartfield, but in that case Zayn was never trying to get away from Mr. Warwick or any other parental figure. His brother constantly says how much he misses living in Highbury, and they only see him twice a year at most. “I understand, Charlotte,” Harry said. “I missed Zayn a lot when he left for London with his husband, but I knew he was happy being with the man he loved, and that was enough to placate me when I thought about missing him. So your father and brother will understand when you are married. Trust me.”

Charlotte nodded. “Oh, Harry. Just the thought of finally being able to marry makes me want to scream with joy.”

“And I shall be all the more happy to attend your wedding,” Harry laughed. He just hoped Mr. Grimshaw loved her just as much as she did, and they had a possibility of marrying before the end of the year. He decided to leave Charlotte a few minutes later, wanting to give her more time to rest and made his way back to Hartfield.

As Harry walked back home, however, all he could think about was the ball, and everything that happened after. Last night he went to bed feeling listless, and a million things running through his mind as he stared up from his pillow, looking up at the painted flowers on his ceiling and yet not paying any attention to them. While he may have had fun dancing with Mr. Grimshaw, he had no doubt in his mind that his dance with Mr. Tomlinson was of a completely different nature. To have someone look at him with such softness as they danced, with every meeting of their eyes sending a spark up his spine, it was just too much to bear. And he was sure Mr. Tomlinson noticed it too, for he could not have been acting so strange without a reason afterwards. Did that mean he had a genuine interest in him? No. No he couldn’t. They had known each other their entire lives and one simple dance should not change them.

But the reality was that it did. Because Mr. Tomlinson was no longer the man who lived in Donwell Abbey and had a brother who married his brother and would call on his grandfather and him every day; he was now a man that was… handsome. A perfect gentleman. And a gentleman that he would love to have children with. A gentleman who Harry would want to marry. A gentleman who made his heart beat in ways it hadn’t before. A gentleman he was in love with.

And knowing that their years long relationship had changed in a matter of minutes was simply too much information to bear even a day later. He would have to think about it further, and hopefully with Mr. Tomlinson as well. Because he was literally the only other person on earth who could understand what he was feeling. When he arrived home at Hartfield after the ball and went to his favorite place by the windows upstairs, the last thing he expected to see was Mr. Tomlinson standing there in the middle of his courtyard, looking up at him in such a way that made his heart leap to the sky. The man would not have come like that, so sudden, so determined enough to run to Hartfield, if he was not going through the same turmoil that Harry was. At least that’s the only explanation he could come up with. But then a horrible thought came through, making Harry stop in his tracks along the graveled road, staring up ahead of him.

What if talking about it didn’t help? What if it would only _ruin_ their friendship, not help it? What if Mr. Tomlinson thought it was a mistake to dance with him in the first place, and Harry had simply imagined any mutual feeling all together? No. No that would not do.

“I shall wait until he speaks to me,” Harry said aloud, nodding to himself and then continuing to walk. Mr. Tomlinson was the older of the pair, so he would definitely know how to resolve this tiny problem. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind.

✺

_Mr. Tomlinson blinked his eyes open, looking at his surroundings. He was in an open field, similar to the ones near Donwell but it did not feel like he was there. Blades of wheat danced in the wind, and he could tell it was Autumn even though there was no chill to his bone._

_“Mr. Tomlinson?” he heard behind him, and Louis turned to see Harry only in a nightshift, sitting in the grass with his bare legs in front of him. His hair was flowing over his shoulders, the woven fabric scandalously revealing almost all of his chest, and a look of pure lust over his face._

_“Yes?” he answered, looking down to see he was wearing nothing at all, standing there naked in a field as Harry lay there in front of him._

_“Take me,” Harry cried out. “Take me here! Make me yours!”_

_And without a second thought, he walked over and got to his knees on the dirt, already placing himself between Harry’s legs, inching the fabric up to reveal more of the younger man’s skin. He could feel a deep burn in his groin as he finally saw Harry’s cock, all wet and ready to be felt._

_“Kiss me,” he heard from above, and saw Harry looking at him with pleading eyes. With a hand on his delicate stomach, he leaned over to join their mouths together, finally getting the pleasure of tasting Harry for the first time. But their cocks seemed to touch before their lips could, and Louis could only groan as his eyes closed, and when he blinked again, he was staring into the darkness of his own room_.

He realized he was breathing heavy, and could feel a wetness on his stomach. Judging from the way his cock was spent against his thigh, he realized he had just had a wet dream. Like the ones he used to have over ten years ago. No, he was too old to have such dreams now. But after a cautious hand went to inspect that he had, indeed, came untouched while not even awake and simply dreaming about Harry, he knew their friendship was standing at the edge of a cliff, with neither of them wanting to take the plunge to certain disaster.

He could never face him now. Not after dreaming of bedding him, and getting off on it without knowing.

Louis just groaned, rubbing his face with both hands and threw his head back into his pillow, hoping to get some semblance of sleep before he really had to wake for the day. And not think of Harry. At all. Which he already knew was going to be impossible.

✺

A few days later, Harry finally saw Mr. Tomlinson again. He called upon them one evening, greeting Mr. Warwick and going to sit by the fire with him. And when Harry was told that he had arrived, he cautiously walked into the drawing room, carefully focusing his eyes ahead of him as Mr. Tomlinson stood to greet him. He looked so handsome in his grey evening coat, eyes looking as blue as ever, and when their eyes did meet, Harry had to take a deep breath in yet again. But he could feel Mr. Tomlinson acting cautiously around him as well. His eyes barely met his as Harry decided to sit with them and read, and every time Harry looked up from his book, Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes would quickly shift away, as if he didn’t want Harry to know he was staring at him.

“What did you think of the ball at the Crowne Inn, Mr. Tomlinson?” Mr. Warwick asked suddenly, after the servants brought in more tea.

“The ball?” Mr. Tomlinson asked in an almost strained voice.

“Yes!” the old man laughed. “My Harry has barely told me anything about it, besides that it was a great success and it was great fun. But Mrs. Teasdale and her daughter called yesterday, and she gave me a full account of the night! Is it true that you danced with my grandson?”

Harry felt his entire face flush, looking up to see Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes widening. “Um- yes. I danced with Harry and he made a very lovely partner.”

“After he danced with Charlotte, Grandpapa,” Harry added quickly. “I’m sorry I did not mention it before.”

“I see,” Mr. Warwick smiled, adjusting his spectacles. “Well I am glad you two had fun. Mrs. Teasdale also told me that no young people opened a window! How morally reprehensible that would’ve been no? Imagine you going to a ball and catching a cold!”

Harry glanced over at Mr. Tomlinson, who quickly shared his stare before turning away. Well, it looked like they would have a harder time talking about it than Harry had thought.

✺

After their first meeting since the ball, Harry thought it was just an initial awkwardness that came upon them in the drawing room that night. All would be well after a few more days, and they would be able to talk about their dance like the rational adults that they were. However, the days came and went, and Harry had hoped Louis would bring up the subject, but when they did have a chance to be alone and converse, Louis would not allow it. He would talk with Mr. Warwick as usual, but with Harry… it did not feel the same as before. If Grandpapa left them alone to go fetch something, Mr. Tomlinson wouldn’t come over to sit by him as he used to, or start conversing with him about all things that transpired throughout the day. Instead he’d keep to his book, never looking up or attempting conversation. Harry couldn’t deny it hurt to be treated in such a matter, but maybe Mr. Tomlinson felt awkward after dancing with him. Was it too unsuitable for him? The ball had definitely left a lasting impression on him, and Harry wished they could simply talk about it instead of ignore whatever came out of that dance.

This went on for about two weeks, until they were forced together one afternoon. They were playing cards at Randalls, with Mrs. Rowland playing chess with Mr. Rowland on one table, Charlotte reading a book on one of the recliners, and the rest of them sitting at a table by the window. Mr. Winston stood next to his wife as she played cards, and Mr. Chalamet sat next to her. Mr. Tomlinson was next to him, and then came Harry.

Despite wanting to appear like nothing was amiss, Harry would steal quick glances of Mr. Tomlinson when he could, hoping he wasn’t being obvious. With the way the older man managed to avoid any conservation with him, it left Harry time to admire his features in a way he hadn’t before. He could now know that Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes really were the color of icy blue, a frost of winter, yet so warm at the same time. His hair looked ever so feathery to the touch, touches of honey colored strands sharing space with the few silver strands that adorned his head, and Harry wanted nothing more than to run his hand through his hair. While kissing him.

That was another effect that came from this sudden realization of feelings. Not only was Harry more aware of how handsome Mr. Tomlinson was, it also awakened in him a sense of… urgency. He recalled a book Mrs. Rowland had given him when he was younger, about what happened when a carrier married their husband. The pleasure that came from sharing the same bed with them. It would lead to children, of course, but it would bring great joy to make those children in the first place. And that is how he came to find out what kind of pleasures he would like to take in the bedroom, particularly one position where he was face down on the bed with his bum in the air and his husband kissing him in that most intimate area. So one night, that is why he found himself gasping with his hand on his cock, coming over his night shift as he thought about _Louis_ being the one to do that to him.

As a carrier, he was always told that his purity was important to maintain until he was married. But he always thought he would be willing to sleep with his husband before marriage, as long as they were engaged. And while he had kissed boys before, none of them were ever tempting enough to marry, much less give his virginity to them.

So it didn’t help that Harry knew that if Mr. Tomlinson simply asked to bed him, Harry would have no problem opening his legs for him wherever and whenever he wanted, engagement be damned.

“What is this I hear of you going in the rain to the post office, Timothée?” Harry looked up from his cards to see Mrs. Winston speaking to the other carrier. At least this boring conversation would give him something to focus on instead of pinning over the very man who was sitting to his right.

“It was no trouble,” Timothée answered, putting down a card. “I take morning walks every day, and a little rain will not stop me.”

“Of course it’s trouble! You could’ve caught a terrible cold and put yourself to bed for a month! Us carriers are delicate plants, you know. We must take care of ourselves!”

Harry frowned slightly as he noticed Louis staring at the other carrier. Mrs. Rowland’s guess that Mr. Tomlinson had been the one who had gifted him the piano forte. But it couldn’t have been him. Could it? Was the way he was looking at Mr. Chalamet more concerned than what a friend should be?

That was when Harry realized he was insanely jealous, and would love it if Timothée could just go back to the Fosters and leave Highbury for good. He was not about to compete for Mr. Tomlinson’s affections with someone like him. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of the gentleman actually preferring Timothée over him, given that he would always praise how accomplished the other carrier was over Harry.

No. He would simply not think about that. He had enough to worry about on his mind.

“Truly, Mrs. Winston,” Timothée said. “I-”

“Nonsense! You know what I shall do? I shall send for the man who fetches our letters – whatever his name is – and he shall inquire for yours as well.”

“But-”

“And that is the end of it!” Mrs. Winston grinned. “See how I am able to solve all of your problems, Mr. Chalamet? I have already written to five families that I’m acquainted with who might need tutors for their children. We shall have you a post by the end of next week!”

Harry thought Timothée looked more than annoyed as he nodded slightly without answering.

“Mr. Styles,” Mrs. Winston said. “Do you think Mr. Tomlinson would extend us all an invitation to Donwell Abbey? I long to see it! I fear I have long exhausted Highbury at this point and since I love exploring great houses, it is time I visit that gorgeous house as well.”

“Well it has been so long since Donwell was open, Mrs. Winston,” Harry explained. “Mr. Tomlinson’s ballrooms and picture galleries are quite shut up. His time is spent on making sure his tenants are well taken care of, not giving entertainment to Highbury’s young folk.”

“Well then, Mr. Tomlinson,” Mrs. Winston said, “you must give a tour of Donwell! Now that I am a new resident here.”

_Like that would happen._

“How about a ball?” Mr. Tomlinson offered coolly, glancing at his cards.

Harry’s eyes widened. “A ball?” Since when would he ever be interested in giving a ball?

“Yes,” Louis nodded. “Since Mrs. Winston is so eager to see Donwell, I might as well put my home to use, now that I see balls are very missed in Highbury.”

“A ball!” Mrs. Winston cried. “How delightful! Leave the invitations to me, Tomlinson.”

“I trust you shall bring Winston,” Louis replied. “For that will be all you are in charge of doing Mrs. Winston.”

“Well now you are looking very sly,” she chuckled, clearly affronted. “You know that married carriers are the best people to put in charge of such things Now, you must let me plan and-”

“No need, Mrs. Winston,” he answered politely. “There is only one person who will ever give such direction and invite the guests they want to Donwell.”

Oh? Harry looked over.

“Mrs. Rowland, I suppose,” Mrs. Winston nodded towards her.

“And that is my spouse.” The room stayed silent as everyone turned to look at him. But he remained unwavered, looking down at his cards with ease. “Since I have no spouse, then I’ll be the one to choose until I do marry.”

“Oh you are an odd creature, Tomlinson,” Mrs. Winston laughed. “But you are the master of your own house so I will do as you wish. Just be sure to tell us all well in advance so we may plan for your splendid ball accordingly.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Winston,” he smiled. “In fact, we should make a day of it. Our party would come earlier, enjoy the day picking strawberries since the fields are ripe for picking. You all bring changes of clothes and then change for the ball in any of my guest rooms. I have more than enough rooms for that.”

“And what if we go to Box Hill the next day as a party?” Mrs. Winston mused.

Harry was about to say that Louis would hate to have people in his house like that, but then he surprised him again. “That would be splendid,” he said with a smile. “Come for strawberry picking, a ball, and then off to Box Hill the next day with us all before you go home. You will all have your own rooms at Donwell, then.”

To spend an entire day and night in Mr. Tomlinson’s home? When they have yet to speak about the state of their friendship? It shall be torture indeed. “How lovely,” Harry said evenly as he laid down a card. “I’ve never even stayed overnight at Donwell and I’ve known it all my life.”

“Now you shall,” Louis responded, putting his own card on top of his.

Harry knew he would start blushing if he held his gaze longer, so he looked away.

“What a lovely idea!” Mrs. Winston declared, already giddy. “Oh we shall have a fine few days together. I cannot wait!”

Neither could Harry.

✺

“Are you sure, sir?” the housekeeper asked, running after him. “We are to have guests _and_ a ball?”

Louis didn’t know why he offered to open his home, but seeing Harry act as if he would never open Donwell because he was anti-social and he liked to keep to himself - he was, but he knew Harry thought that of him because he was older and probably not as fun as younger men – was too much to endure.

Harry probably thought it was a waste to have Donwell in his hands when it should belong to someone more livelier, more giving into life’s luxuries. Someone who would be ready to show its beauty and not keep it locked up as he did. Harry was probably thinking Nick Grimshaw would do better of Donwell than he could. And Louis could not bear to think that.

So in a matter of a few seconds, Louis decided he would not only open Donwell to visitors, he would hold a ball there as well. He might as well use the ballroom that sat empty for so long, and prove that there could be life at Donwell. And the entire party seemed delighted at the thought, though he couldn’t ignore the look of surprise on Harry’s face as he did.

So when he got back to Donwell later that day, he instructed Mrs. Reynolds to uncover the furniture in all the rooms, and make sure everything was dusted and cleaned in time for the party.

“I am sure of it, Mrs. Reynolds. We shall hold the outing in a month or so with the ball in the evening. Then we shall go to Box Hill the next day and they shall depart to their houses from there.”

“Such news!” she grinned. “Oh how wonderful it would be to have the house bustling with people. Should I instruct James to get out the best silver and china?”

“Of course,” he said. “I expect nothing less for my guests. We will show Highbury that Donwell is worthy of its name after being closed for so long.”

And show Harry that he can be every bit the gentleman that Mr. Grimshaw is, no matter what his charms are.

“That we shall, sir!” Mrs. Reynolds laughed, already walking away to go instruct the servants.

And as unnerving as it was to open his house in such a way, Louis knew it was for the better. He wanted to show Harry he was worthy of his love, even if they have yet to speak on the matter. He wouldn’t know where to start, how to speak of his feelings when he was unsure of what Harry’s were, so gestures like this would suffice until then. Until they had the perfect moment to speak of their feelings, truly and openly.

✺

A few days went by when Harry found himself walking with Mrs. Rowland and Ms. Clark into town, the three of them deciding to go shopping for ribbons and such. Harry was still bubbling at the thought of Mr. Tomlinson holding a ball, thinking how grand Donwell will look, yet still so confused that Mr. Tomlinson agreed to such a spectacle. It was just not in his nature to do such a thing. But perhaps, as the past few weeks have shown, he did not know him at all.

Charlotte had stepped into the post office for a moment while the other carriers waited outside.

“Do you think Mr. Tomlinson is still interested in Timothée Chalamet?” Mrs. Rowland asked aloud.

Harry felt his face flush, frowning. He was in no humor to think of Mr. Tomlinson with other carriers. “What gives you that impression, Sarah?” he swallowed, averting his eyes.

“He is most attentive to him,” she replied. “I heard he personally brings eggs over to Miss Teasdale’s home whenever he can, making sure to inquire about Timothée’s ill health when possible.”

“If he wants to make sure Timothée is healthy,” Harry huffed. “I do not see how that is an indication that Mr. Tomlinson is interested in him.”

“I know you said you do want him married, my dear,” Sarah chuckled, “but I would not give up all hope on him marrying Mr. Chalamet. Like I said, Louis deserves to be happy, and Donwell has long needed a carrier’s touch. It would make both their situations better with their marriage.”

Their marriage. Harry wanted to scream. He knew that Louis had not given him much indication that he harbored such feelings for himself, but he didn’t need to think that Timothée was the actual carrier that Louis felt such feelings for! No, he could not bear to see him interested in another carrier when their own feelings had to be resolved. He was not ready to give Louis up that easily.

“I have finished!” Charlotte emerged behind them. “I sent my father’s letters and am ready to go to Ford’s!”

And no sooner did she announce that, did the sky open its waters and start pouring on them, entirely drenching their clothing in seconds. None of them had brought an umbrella, so only their hands could prove to be any type of cover.

“Let us go to Ford’s,” Harry shouted, leading the way there. They were still a few blocks away when they heard someone shouting from a window above.

“Mrs. Rowland! Mr. Styles! Ms. Clark! Do come up and keep dry from the rain!” came Miss Teasdale, waving frantically at them from her window.

“Better Miss Teasdale’s nonsense than get stuck in this shower,” Harry giggled towards Sarah as the three of them made their way inside. Once they were in the apartment, Harry gasped as he saw who was sitting by the window.

“Mr. Grimshaw!” Harry laughed. “I did not know you were in town?”

The man stood up quickly, nodding to them. “Ah yes,” he smiled. “I just arrived today and was calling here to return a pair of scissors to Miss Teasdale.”

“I see,” Harry smiled, going over to stand by him. Mrs. Teasdale was by the fire, Timothée next to her as they all greeted each other.

“Oh what company to have!” Miss Teasdale exclaimed. “How are you, Mrs. Rowland? Miss Clark? I never thought it would have rained today but goodness how it falls! It’s a good thing you were right outside when I saw you so you all can stay dry until it passes!”

“Yes,” Sarah laughed. “You are too kind to house us for the time being.” She looked over towards the fire. “How are you, Mr. Chalamet?”

The carrier was about to answer before his aunt cut in again. “Timothée is not feeling well today – poor boy could not keep any food down – and his spirits have been low! But I know he will be well again in a few days, as he usually is.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he started to talk with Mr. Grimshaw. “So do you ride from Richmond everyday now, sir?”

“I do,” Mr. Grimshaw said as he leaned against the wall, smiling. “You know that I have quite enjoyed my time here in Highbury, and I hate to be parted from it.”

“I see,” Harry giggled. “How fortunate we are to see you today, then.” Even if Harry had no feelings for him, he still found his company entertaining all the same.

“You can see the piano forte!” Miss Teasdale announced suddenly. “I just realized that you have not seen it, Mr. Styles! Please take a look!”

Ah, the famous piano forte that had a mysterious giver. Harry smiled with a nod, walking over to the other wall where it lay against. It was a pretty little thing, smaller than most but entirely too big for the small rooms of the Teasdales. Much smaller than the one he had at Hartfield. But he supposed that Timothée must enjoy it, so he couldn’t really judge it well. Besides, it was given as a symbol of love, and Harry still had the mind to think Mr. Baxter had given it to him, as impertinent as it was. Perhaps that is why Timothée looked so miserable every day, away from the man he truly loved and would never be able to have.

“It is a lovely instrument,” he said simply.

“I am so glad you agree,” Miss Teasdale cried. “We had to make room for it but oh how our Timothée loves playing it all day! How about you, Miss Clark? What do you have to say about the lovely present that the Fosters have been so kind to give him?”

“I’d say it is a very kind gift,” Charlotte nodded, not moving from her place at the table as Harry shared a smile with her.

“Why thank you, Miss Clark! Would you like another piece of cake? I shall fetch it for you.” She said dashing off to the other room. But before she reached the door, she looked out her window and stopped to open it again. “Mr. Tomlinson! Oh Mr. Tomlinson!” Miss Teasdale called out. “Do come in from the rain! You’ll be drenched!”

“Oh I cannot-”

“Please do, sir! I would hate to see you catch a cold!”

He seemed to say something else that Harry couldn’t hear, but it didn’t matter since it only took a few more moments to see Mr. Tomlinson come into the room, his overcoat soaked but hair dry under his hat.

“Good day to you all,” Louis smiled, smile slightly fading as his eyes landed on Harry.

A chorus of “good day” followed before everyone got back to their conversations, and Mr. Tomlinson went to sit by Timothée and Mrs. Teasdale. Harry grumbled internally as he turned away, not wanting to witness their conversation. He went to sit with Sarah and Charlotte, who were nibbling at their biscuits.

“Oh I see poor Doctor Roberts with his coat turned up on horseback,” Mr. Grimshaw remarked. “Oh he’ll be drenched! Tell me, Sarah, what happened to him setting up a carriage?”

“Doctor Roberts setting up a carriage?” Mrs. Rowland laughed after sipping her water. “No I have never heard of it! Wherever did you get that notion?”

“From you!” he said. “In your letters! That Doctor Perry was set on getting a carriage much to the joy of Mrs. Roberts! Some months ago, I’m sure.”

“From me?” Mrs. Rowland frowned, shaking her head. “No, Nick, I do not recall even knowing such a rumor much less writing to you about it.”

“Are you sure? I-” he seemed to pause as he glanced around the room, coughing. “You know, I must have made it up in my dreams. Or I probably heard it from a servant a while back.”

Harry found it strange that Nick would know of something like that, when he had never heard of such gossip. Since Doctor Roberts visits Hartfield every day as it is to see Mr. Warwick, he would have thought Grandpapa would have mentioned it to him if he knew, since Harry loved to know when people got new carriages.

“Oh how strange,” Miss Teasdale laughed. “For Mr. Grimshaw to know this when he is not even a resident of Highbury! I do remember Mrs. Roberts coming here to tell us that Doctor Roberts wanted to get a carriage, but eventually decided that he couldn’t afford it sadly. But it was told in the strictest confidence and not for Mrs. Roberts to be telling everyone-”

“The apples, aunt!” Timothée cried suddenly, everyone turning to stare at him, looking flustered.

“The apples, my dear?” the old carrier asked. “Oh yes the apples! Oh, Mr. Tomlinson. We must thank you for the apples you sent us yesterday.”

Louis smiled with a nod. “It was nothing-”

“And an entire barrel! Of your _special_ variety! Oh to have such generous friends. When Mr. Rodgers came to drop them off, he told us your cook barely had enough to make your favorite pies!”

And at that, Sarah glanced over at Harry, brow raised in a smirk. Surely she thought this was another sign of Mr. Tomlinson’s marked attention towards Mr. Chalamet, and yes, it did seem like it. But deep within him, Harry knew that Louis had always been generous towards Miss Teasdale, and surely that would extend to her nephew once he was in Highbury. It did not mean anything more than that. At least, that’s what he hoped. Harry was in no position to ask, or even tease, Mr. Tomlinson about having such an affection for Mr. Chalamet. Not when they could barely speak to one another alone, like they both forget how to speak in each other’s presence.

No, he would just have to hold hope that this was nothing more than Mr. Tomlinson being his usual benevolent self. Not based on an actual attraction. Not when Harry’s heart belonged to Mr. Tomlinson, and him alone. It filled him with fury to think of sharing him with anyone else.

✺

“Is it true you’re holding a ball, Louis?”

After leaving Miss Teasdale’s apartment once the rain had stopped, Mr. Tomlinson ended up spending an evening at the Corden house, a gentlemen’s night with drinks and card playing. He did not particularly enjoy seeing Mr. Grimshaw give Harry such marked attention in front of him, so he was already in a foul mood to begin with. So Louis refrained from the general talk while he sat by the fire, simply sipping his drink as he stared into the flames. Luckily, Niall was there, sitting across from him, drinking whiskey.

“I am, Mr. Corden” Louis smiled wryly. “Thought it was about time that I opened Donwell like that. And rest assured that everyone in this room shall be cordially invited when the time comes.” That was met with amused grunts across the room, all smiling.

“Well I couldn’t be happier,” Niall laughed. “Another night of dancing after such a spirited one at the Crowne! How wonderful.”

“Will you be inviting Mr. Grimshaw?” Mr. Corden asked from his table, where they were playing cards in his group.

Louis groaned internally. “Yes,” he said curtly. “As brother to Mr. Rowland, he will always be invited to Donwell.” Mrs. Rowland was having some pains related to her pregnancy, so Mr. Rowland sent a note asking to be excused from the party for the night. And since he was someone he could easily tolerate, Mr. Tomlinson felt even more annoyed as the evening progressed.

“I’m guessing Mr. Harry would love that,” Mr. Winston said with a smirk, looking up from his book.

“Oh yes!” Mr. Smith laughed. “He would.”

Mr. Horan shared a look with Louis, who were both frowning at the mention of Harry in their private circle. “Pray tell,” Niall asked, “what do you mean by that?”

“Well everyone knows that they have an attachment of some sort,” Mr. Corden asserted with a chuckle.

“One might even say that an attachment has already happened,” Mr. Smith laughed with a waggle of brow.

Louis had to train every bit of muscle to not jump out of the chair and run away. “What exactly do you mean?” he asked coolly. Even though he knew exactly what they meant, but he couldn’t let them talk about Harry in this fashion.

“I’ve heard from Miss Teasdale that Mr. Grimshaw and Mr. Harry are often seen together, and with no chaperone! Who knows what could happen, or has already happened.”

Mr. Corden nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we have an engagement announcement soon. In case something may arrive in nine months or so.”

Was it possible for blood to boil with rage? To outwardly assume that Harry is sleeping with Mr. Grimshaw, out of wedlock and possibly with child? No. No it could not be. “As a close friend of the Styles family,” Louis objected with a tense brow, “particularly of Harry, I can assure you, gentlemen, that Mr. Styles and Mr. Grimshaw have no understanding of the sort.”

“But how could you know if they are keeping their liaison a secret?” Mr. Winston offered, the amusement clear in his voice.

“Or if they even have an engagement planned?”

“Are you implying that they are coupling out of wedlock?” Mr. Horan asked. Louis was thankful for the support of Harry’s honor, something he never thought he would have had to defend.

“I hope that’s not what you gentlemen are implying,” Louis said sternly. “Harry has always been a carrier of good reputation from a respected family, and has never given anyone notice to believe that is false. Especially you, Mr. Winston,” he narrowed his eyes, “I thought clergymen were not supposed to spread false gossip.”

The vicar stared at him with a frown, not daring to retort.

“We’re just repeating rumors we’ve heard around Highbury, Mr. Tomlinson,” Mr. Corden said easily, looking around at the other men. “Nothing else. I’m sure Mr. Styles still has an honorable reputation.”

But that was enough. It didn’t matter whether there was any truth to it, but simply being around Mr. Grimshaw was enough to bring such salacious gossip to his name. Never has that happened before; never had Louis ever thought he would have to protect his name against such rumors. And he was under the impression that they were false, for he knew Harry would not be so careless as to enter such an affair when they weren’t even engaged, much less married. If they were true… Louis’ heart wouldn’t be able to bear it. He didn’t know what he would do. For now, he wouldn’t think of it. And decided to rage in silence for the rest of the night.


	4. Summer

A few weeks went by, and it was now June. Which meant Mr. Tomlinson’s ball was on the horizon and quickly approaching.

“Are you excited about the ball, dear Harry?” Mrs. Rowland asked, sipping her tea.

Harry decided to call at Randalls on a particularly warm day, wondering how Sarah was doing with her pregnancy. Her stomach seemed to be growing rounder by the day, looking more pronounced with every visit Harry made. It made him so happy to know she would finally have the family she always desired and made her absence from Hartfield all the more worth it.

“Of course I am,” Harry chirped. “Even if I was a bit surprised that he offered to throw one. Mr. Tomlinson always says he prefers to stay at home instead of attending parties, and now the man who refused to dance at our last ball is throwing one? How very strange.”

“Well it might be to truly welcome Mrs. Winston to Highbury,” Sarah offered. “We have often heard her complain that this area lacks the society she was used to in Bristol and Bath, so Mr. Tomlinson is very kind to give her the type of ball that is becoming of her.”

“Perhaps,” Harry sighed. Maybe he wouldn’t be so suspicious if he had found the chance to talk to Mr. Tomlinson, but in over more than a month, they had never had time to be alone and discuss things as they once did. The older man seemed to be in a perpetual state of awkwardness whenever Harry looked at him, and only spoke directly to him when others were present. None of their usual friendliness was there, and it deeply hurt to not be able to speak with him in that way anymore. He must have truly felt that their dance at the Crowne was most inappropriate, and simply wanted to keep Harry away for the time being.

And Harry had to admit it might be for the better. He needed to reconcile with his own feelings towards Mr. Tomlinson, wondering if it was really love or a mere infatuation. Was it an infatuation to want to bear his children and spend the rest of their lives together? Since he had never been in love before, he wouldn’t know. But the distance that the older man imposed on him was felt on him greatly. Almost nothing compared to when Mr. Grimshaw left Highbury. Harry was able to go on with his life when Nick left, but without Mr. Tomlinson in his life, he felt a deep part of him missing at every turn. Listless, like everything had no meaning if he could not share it with his dear friend. A friend that he wanted something more out of.

But if Mr. Tomlinson was treating him in this manner, that meant he did not share the feelings that Harry dealt with all this time. And it would be better if Harry tried to get over him all together.

“What if it is a way to impress someone else?” Sarah gasped.

Harry frowned. “Besides Mrs. Winston.”

“You seem to forget I have made a match between Mr. Tomlinson and Mr. Chalamet, Harry,” she proudly quipped. “What if this is not just a ball to welcome Mrs. Winston, but also a way for Louis to show off how grand Donwell is as a means to court Timothée? Oh it is but a perfect plan!”

With everything that had been happening in the past month, Harry tried not to think about the possibility that Mr. Tomlinson was not only not interested in him, but interested in someone else. And that someone could very well be Timothée Chalamet. And now that Sarah was so kind to mention this theory about the ball, it did make sense for him to throw it for Timothée’s benefit. It was already so unlike him to be giving a ball in the first place, but one would expect such changes when it came to matters of love.

Maybe Mr. Tomlinson was lost to him forever, and it was time for Harry to accept that. Accept that the one man he would ever be inclined to marry was forbidden.

And perhaps… it was the best thing for their friendship. Maybe they wouldn’t have been good partners, anyway. Though after knowing Mr. Tomlinson for so many years, there was very little doubt in his heart that he wouldn’t be the kindest of lovers in every way. It pained Harry to know he will never get to know for sure.

“Have you by any chance seen my peony hair pin, Sarah?” he asked, changing the subject to something more pressing, “I seem to have lost it and I cannot find it anywhere at Hartfield. I thought I might have dropped it here on one of my visits.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Rowland frowned, looking down to the carpet. “I’ll see if our housekeeper may have found it, but I do not recall seeing it. If it is here I hope I can bring it to you at Donwell on Friday.”

Harry sighed. “Thank you, Sarah. I would be much obliged.”

Now if only he could actually be looking forward to spending a night at Donwell with the man who doesn’t love him.

✺

Friday came, and Harry was now a guest at Donwell Abbey. He arrived with his grandfather earlier, but the old man was off sitting on a bench under a tree conversing with Miss Teasdale, under the watchful umbrella to keep out any sun that might get through the leaves. They already spent the afternoon picking strawberries in the unbearable heat, with Mrs. Winston going on and on about how she felt like a true country peasant by picking fruit for herself, and everyone came back with baskets full of the brightest red fruits, ready to eat at any moment. And while it had been fun to pick his own, that didn’t mean he didn’t notice what Mr. Tomlinson was doing the entire time.

He spent most of the time looking up whenever he heard Louis laughing and saw he was entertaining Timothée and Miss Teasdale, wondering what could be so funny. Not that he cared. Not in the slightest.

Maybe he wouldn’t have been so distracted if Nick was there, but he doubted it. He really didn’t miss Nick’s presence, but at least it would be something entertaining instead of watching Mr. Tomlinson ignore him. At least Charlotte was a chatterbox, describing her day in London the day before, after accompanying her father to run some errands. Harry wanted to pay attention but seeing Timothée standing so close to Mr. Tomlinson created a deep rage within him, and allowed him to care for nothing else.

“Oh, bollocks,” Charlotte muttered. “I think I dropped my pink glove in the strawberry fields. I shall be right back!” And before Harry could turn around to answer her, she was already walking back to the fields. He remembered how the fields held such a special memory to him and Mr. Tomlinson, the day he gave him the French rose pin. And he had a little bit of hope that he would bring it up once they were near each other when they were picking near the same bush, but Mr. Tomlinson simply stared at him with those blue eyes that Harry now adored, and offered a small smile and nod before walking away.

He clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

With his white parasol in one hand, he decided to walk over to the Rowlands, who were standing near a tree and discussing something.

“Ah, Harry,” Mr. Rowland smiled. “How are you today? Have you eaten your strawberries?”

“I have not yet,” Harry smiled. “But I shall snack on them in a bit once Charlotte retrieves her glove from the fields. How are you feeling, Sarah? I’m sure Grandpapa will be wanting to sit by the fire soon even with this heat, and would love your company if you needed to rest.”

“I think I shall be joining him soon,” she smiled, the pregnancy giving a wonderful glow to her face. “For I am becoming rather tired.”

“Mr. Tomlinson said we shall go inside before luncheon, my dear,” Mr. Rowland said. “But if you need to go in now I will happily escort you. Carry you if needed!”

Harry giggled as Mrs. Rowland laughed, kissing her husband on the cheek. He loved seeing daily proof that Sarah was treated as the true goddess she was.

“Well I shall be getting back to my strawberries,” Harry said, glancing over to see if Charlotte had returned, “and I shall see you two love birds inside.”

Twirling his parasol in hand, he walked back to where his basket was. The servants had laid out sheets on the grass for guests to sit along, and Harry plopped himself down to eat his fruit. He looked up to see where the rest of the party was, and smiled as he saw the Rowlands now talking with Grandpapa and Miss Teasdale. At least Mr. Tomlinson wasn’t near Mr. Chalamet anymore. Instead he was standing off to the side as Timothée was talking with the Winstons.

Content, Harry took off his gloves before nibbling on his strawberries. They really were rich and sweet, savoring the taste on his tongue as he swallowed. He noticed that Louis had come to stand closer to him now, yet not looking directly at him. Harry took another strawberry in his hand and rested the tip against his bottom lip as he continued to stare at Louis, who was now eyeing him as well. Mr. Tomlinson was dressed in a navy blue coat, his hat over the styled curls of his hair, looking so handsome as a gentle breeze blew between them. They held the gaze for a few long seconds, with Harry taking a tender bite of the strawberry, puckering his lips before licking them, and Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes widened before turning his look away.

They really did need to talk, but Harry didn’t know what he would end up saying at this point. It had been so long since he examined his own feelings on anything related to his heart. But something changed since their dance at the Crowne Inn, and he desperately needed to know why Mr. Tomlinson was acting so strangely towards him because of it.

Eventually they all went back inside to have lunch, with the party waiting in one of the large rooms before the meal was set.

“Please look around at the paintings,” Mr. Tomlinson said as they walked inside. “These portraits have been in my family for generations and are very prized.”

Harry was mesmerized as he looked around. Even though Mr. Tomlinson was a close friend for all his life, he didn’t really spend much time at Donwell. Louis liked to keep the house to himself, so there have only been a handful of times that Harry remembered visiting. There were a few times that he spent at Donwell with Zayn, back when Mr. Payne And Mr. Tomlinson didn’t have the rooms opened when Harry did visit, with the rooms shut and more of the furniture covered all around the house. Since only Louis lived there and he didn’t like to have guests, it made sense.

But now seeing it so open, and so very larger than Hartfield, it only made Harry wonder if he could ever be privileged to live there. The lake that sat in front of the abbey was beautiful in every way, with the large windows giving a wonderful view of it from the room. Gold trim was everywhere, and the French doors were a wonderful touch to everything. Even if it was an abbey in its olden days, Donwell was fit for a king. And that’s all Mr. Tomlinson was in Harry’s eyes.

Looking around the room, though, Harry found himself transfixed at a massive portrait. Family members all staring forward, dressed in dated clothing from centuries ago. Somehow they were related to Mr. Tomlinson; their blood running through his veins. But he knew this was all from the Tomlinson side of the family, and wondered if any portrait of his mother was around. Probably not in this room, but in another part of the house. He shall go look for it when they explored the rest of the house.

Still looking up at all the paintings, Harry turned to see Mr. Tomlinson talking with Mr. Chalamet, pointing to different things in the room as they stood in front of one of the portraits. It didn’t help that with every sight of seeing them together Harry was more sure that Sarah’s theory was right. Maybe they were meant for one another, and Harry had let a fruitless love for the older man grow within him.

“Isn’t this place beautiful, Harry?” Charlotte asked as she walked up to him. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“It is beautiful,” Harry sighed, staring up at another painting. He glanced over to see if Mr. Tomlinson was still conversing with Timothée, but instead found the carrier staring at him and quickly turning away. He then said something to the gentleman and walked away.

Harry decided to look away as well by then, but noticed Mr. Tomlinson approaching him from the corner of his eye. He turned to face him once he was standing a few feet in front of him, wondering if this was the right time when they could finally talk. At least for a few moments away from all the people in the room.

“Miss Clark?” he began, not looking up to meet Harry’s eyes. “There is a particular painting in the east corridor that I think might interest you. May I escort you?”

Harry’s jaw almost dropped.

“Of course,” Charlotte grinned, following him before looking over at Harry with a smile as they left. Once they had left he quickly turned to look at the painting behind him again, careful not to let any tears fall. Louis had never ignored him in such a way. To prefer Miss Clark than him? Someone he had not even known for a year and give her attentions instead of an old friend? Mr. Tomlinson must truly find him revolting if he can’t even bear to be in his presence alone.

After taking a few more minutes to calm himself, he turned back to face the room, and realized everyone had already left to explore the rest of the house. Except he saw Mr. Chalamet standing near the doorway, looking at him in such a way that Harry couldn’t decipher.

“Mr. Harry?” he asked softly, walking towards him.

“Mr. Chalamet?” he offered, puzzled by this interaction yet walking towards him as well.

“Can you excuse me for the rest of the day?” the other carrier asked once they were standing in front of each other. He noticed how tired Timothée looked, like he hadn’t been sleeping well. His face was paler than usual as well.

Harry frowned. “Will you be back for the ball?” He couldn’t imagine him missing it when it was to be even bigger than the Crowne ball.

“Yes,” Timothée nodded. “I will try. My aunt is still here with my grandmother and I would not leave them alone.”

“Are you unwell?” Harry asked. “I can have Dr. Roberts called immediately if you need.”

“I am not ill, but I need to leave,” Timothée sighed, looking down at his hands. “I’m tired. So tired.”

“Then You could always rest in one of the rooms here-”

“No.” Timothée said sternly. “I would rather go away for a few hours to my own room and then come back.”

“Are you sure you are well?” Harry asked, frowning harder. “You do not look well, Mr. Chalamet.” He hated to sound like Miss Teasdale, but he wouldn’t feel right to let Timothée go walking back to town in this heat when he looked like that.

Timothée stared at him with weary eyes. “Mr. Styles, we all know what it is to feel tired in spirits. I admit. Mine are exhausted. The greatest kindness you can do me is to simply let everyone know I am well when it is noticed that I am gone.”

Harry continued to stare at him as he finished, looking ever so weary yet determined to go. “If you say so,” Harry replied. There was no point in arguing with someone so strange. He watched as he quickly left the room.

Alone once again, he decided to walk around Donwell by himself, enjoying the solitude it brought. He climbed the stairs to the hallways that overlooked the courtyard, admiring the garden that Mr. Tomlinson kept down there. When they were children, Louis’ father had kept the garden quite run down, with bricks laying everywhere and plants wasting away with no care, but when Louis became master of Donwell, he made sure it blossomed into a beautiful sanctuary within a few weeks. He even got to witness some of the – disgustingly sweet – moments his brother and Liam shared in that garden before their engagement, sitting on one of the stone benches whispering to each other like they were the only ones alive in the world.

Even though Harry didn’t spend as much time at Donwell as Mr. Tomlinson spent at Hartfield, he had to admit he had a lot of happy memories here. When Louis’ mother was still alive, he remembered her kind smile whenever she let them steal sweets before their meal times, giving chocolate biscuits to him and Louis whenever they played around Donwell together. But she had died before Harry could remember much about her, but he always remembered her kindness towards him, and everyone around them.

Mr. Tomlinson’s father was rather distant in manner if Harry remembered correctly, but was still loving to his son and eventual stepson. Sarah had told him that Mr. Christopher Tomlinson had been very pained when his first wife died, but seemed to gain some light into his life when he married Mr. Payne’s mother. At least Louis gained a brother from that, always lonely as the only child before.

Maybe that’s why he was able to have such a friendship with Mr. Tomlinson. Losing their parents gave them a connection not many people are able to sympathize with, and while they did not have their parents as they continued to grow, they had each other in the family they found with Liam and Zayn as well. Harry remembered how concerned Grandpapa was for the boys once Louis inherited Donwell, making sure his household was in constant contact with theirs. And up until eight years ago at least, Mr. Warwick would take a weekly carriage ride to Donwell to call on Mr. Tomlinson and Mr. Payne, making sure they were well cared for in their parent’s absence.

Which is probably why – especially after Zayn and Liam married – Louis decided to walk to Hartfield every day to enjoy Harry and Mr. Warwick’s company. Their friendship was there when their families could not be.

And as Harry continued to walk around the hallway, he noticed a large bust of a woman sitting in a prominent corner. He never remembered seeing that one, so with a slight frown he approached it, staring up at her beauty. She had full lips and almond shaped eyes, seeming to look up at the sky, showing her sharp jawline and high cheekbones. But as he looked at how particular her curly hair was sculpted, he realized she seemed remarkably familiar.

He glanced down to the plate and smiled to himself as he whispered it aloud: “Salome Tomlinson.” Mr. Tomlinson’s mother. Oh, she was a beauty, through and through. Louis must have had the sculpture made a few years ago, since he couldn’t remember seeing it here in their childhood. He liked knowing Mr. Tomlinson still found ways to honor her even if she was long gone.

“Have I arrived too late?”

Harry easily recognized that voice, giving a small eyeroll. “For strawberry picking, yes,” he answered as he turned to face him. “For lunch, not yet. So until then we are all exploring the house, Mr. Grimshaw.”

Nick looked rather tired, but dressed in a smart green frock.

“Strawberry picking sounds boring so I’m glad I missed that,” Nick replied. “But I wouldn’t refuse a meal. I do look forward to seeing how good of a cook Mr. Tomlinson keeps.”

“She’s wonderful,” Harry said. “What kept you though?”

“My aunt had a nervous seizure that lasted some hours this morning,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t even know if I should have come. I saw Timothée Chalamet walking back to Highbury? Madness in this weather.”

“Yes he did leave earlier,” Harry hummed.

“This heat really is vexing I must say!” he said suddenly.

“Would you like to sit down? Or you could go down to the kitchens and get some beer.”

Mr. Grimshaw seemed to think about that. “No. No. I think I’d stay with you, since I’d rather not be alone.”

“And I shall enjoy your company then,” Harry smiled, and walked ahead of him. “Do you like the house so far?”

“I think it is very grand,” Nick nodded. “Almost reminds me of Enscombe.”

“Such similar houses and yet such different owners,” Harry remarked.

“Well I do not own Enscombe yet,” Mr. Grimshaw said as they continued to walk around, “and I am not sure if I am looking forward to it.”

“You are not looking forward to owning that magnificent house?” Harry scoffed, as they stopped by one of the windows, paying particular attention to one of the statues.

“I tire of England,” Mr. Grimshaw said suddenly.

Harry frowned as he looked over. “Why?”

“Because it has nothing for me,” Nick huffed, leaning his elbow on one of the statues. “After my aunt lets me, I am leaving. Maybe Switzerland, and even take my aunt along as the air would do her good.”

Harry giggled as he shook his head. He couldn’t imagine wanting to leave Highbury, or even England for that matter.

“You may laugh,” Nick muttered, “but I am completely serious. I’ll go to the continent and travel to my heart’s content and no one can stop me.”

“I cannot empathize when I’ve never even been anywhere,” Harry answered.

“Well I shall love to travel. Get away from this place, from the company kept here.”

“Is Highbury that unsatisfactory to you?”

“Not Highbury, Mr. Harry, but just my life in general. It would do me well to go away. I am sick of this life. Thwarted in everything I want.”

Harry frowned, but felt it wasn’t his place to figure out what was going wrong in Mr. Grimshaw’s life. All he knew how to do was get him a partner, and Charlotte was just the carrier he needed in his life. “We are going to Box Hill tomorrow,” Harry said cheerfully. “You have been invited?”

“I have,” Nick sighed. “But it sounds boring.”

“Do you not want to come?”

“Do you want me to come?”

“I believe it would be a nice distraction. It’s not Switzerland, but a day trip is always refreshing. Especially after tonight’s ball.”

“Then if you want me there,” Nick smirked. “I should be happy to accompany you.”

Harry noticed a crowd of people coming, noting that Louis was at the front of the group with Charlotte by his side. They must have had a lot to talk about ever since he pulled her away. But Harry frowned when Mr. Tomlinson’s jaw seemed to clench once he saw Nick.

“Mr. Grimshaw,” he said with a head bow. “I did not know if you were coming or not. Mrs. Rowland was scared your horse had thrown you in a ditch somewhere. But here you are, in one piece.”

“Pardon for my tardiness,” Nick said. “But I was caught up with my aunt and could not leave her side for some time.”

“He says he shall come with us to Box Hill,” Harry said with excitement.

“Splendid!” Mr. Rowland said as he looked over at his wife.

“How nice,” Mr. Tomlinson said. “Now, I think Cook should be ready with lunch. Do follow me. The Winstons are probably already there.”

 _And complaining that the food isn’t being served_ , Harry thought to himself.

They went down to the dining hall, where they each took their seats. Thankfully, Mrs. Winston was seated as the guest of honor next to Mr. Tomlinson, and her husband across from her. Charlotte was next to Harry, and Mr. Grimshaw was beside him. The Rowlands sat across from each other as well, and Mrs. And Miss Teasdale sat on either side of Mr. Warwick who was at the other end of the table, which was beautifully decorated with plates of fruits and meats all over and fresh flowers from the garden.

“Does anyone know where my nephew is?” Miss Teasdale asked after the first course was brought out.

Not wanting to worry her or bring her into a frenzy about his health, Harry thought out a quick lie. “He said he forgot something in his room and would be back in time for the ball. Mr. Grimshaw saw him when on his way here and said he looked fine.”

“Really? In this weather?” Miss Teasdale began. “Oh dear. What if he has a heat stroke?”

“I’m sure Mr. Chalamet has his parasol,” Mr. Tomlinson said. “Though I wish someone would have called him a carriage instead of allowing him to walk all the way back to Highbury.”

“I offered him our carriage,” Harry said, looking directly at him. “But no matter how much I pressed, he would not give way and was determined to walk back.” Mr. Tomlinson shared his glance until someone else started to speak.

“How silly of poor Timothée,” Mrs. Winston sighed. “Why on earth would he walk when he could’ve taken a carriage? Poor thing.”

“I’m sure he will not have a heat stroke, Miss Teasdale,” Mr. Tomlinson assured her. “If he is not back within the next hour or so, I shall send out a servant to fetch him in my carriage.”

“Oh thank you, Mr. Tomlinson,” Ms. Teasdale sighed in relief. “He couldn’t keep any food down this morning and I am sure he barely ate before venturing out. But he was excited for the ball so he will be here. I hope.”

At least Harry didn’t have to talk about Timothée with Mr. Grimshaw next to him, and they conversed about other places to visit in Europe.

After they all finished eating and they withdrew to one of the sitting rooms, Mr. Tomlinson announced they would be shown their rooms so they could rest before the ball.

“My staff are all preparing for tonight with great care,” he smiled. “So I think it best if you all retreat to your guest rooms and come down before the ball is to start.”

“Ah what a splendid idea,” Mrs. Winston declared. “Come, Mr. W. I would much enjoy a nap before we dance the night away.” And they were the first to leave the room. Everyone else followed, and Harry found himself near the end of the group, which meant Mr. Tomlinson stood next to him as they walked out.

“Did Timothée speak with you before he left?”

Harry tried awfully hard not to roll his eyes. The first moment they can actually talk in the day after such distance and he decided to ask him about _Timothée_.

“I did,” he said simply. “And he merely asked if I could make an excuse for him when it was noticed he was gone. Said he was tired.”

“I wonder why he did not decide to rest in the room he would have here,” Mr. Tomlinson thought. “You should have offered to have him stay here instead.”

“Well I am not the carrier of Donwell, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry replied with a glare, “it is not my place to offer its rooms to guests. You should find yourself a carrier if you need someone to order your house when you’re not around.” And he decided to walk ahead of him before letting him reply. He didn’t know what had gotten into Mr. Tomlinson in the last month, but he wished it would go away and give him his old friend back. He missed their usual banter.

“This is Mrs. Jennings,” Mr. Tomlinson said aloud as a woman appeared at the top of the stairs. “She is my housekeeper and will show you to your rooms. I have some more things to oversee about tonight, so if you all can excuse me,” he bowed and walked away.

“Please follow me,” Mrs. Jennings said with a kind smile. Everyone followed her up the stairs, with Harry walking next to Charlotte as they did.

“How are you liking Donwell?” he asked.

“Magnificent!” she grinned. “I didn’t know such a grand house could exist.”

“Mr. Grimshaw was telling me it reminded him of Enscombe,” Harry replied.

“I bet it would be grand to see that house as well,” Charlotte gasped. “Oh to have such friends!”

Harry liked knowing that she was eager to see Nick’s home as well, since – if they were to get married – that would be her home as well. He wondered how long it would take for Mr. Grimshaw to realize Charlotte had feelings for him. He would simply have to try to work his cupid magic on them at the ball tonight, and at Box Hill tomorrow.

Everyone was shown to their room before Harry, leaving him the last one to be with Mrs. Jennings as they walked the large hallways together. Since Donwell used to be an actual abbey long ago and not just in name, one of Mr. Tomlinson’s ancestors made great improvements on the house, taking it from being a drafty bare stone building to beautifully painted walls and ceilings that could rival the artisan buildings of southern Europe. At least, that’s what Harry thought once he saw books with pictures of such artwork. Donwell Abbey was truly a wonderful place to admire, let alone live in.

“How are you, Mrs. Jennings?” he asked. “It’s been so long since I’ve been at Donwell to see you. How is your family?”

“Oh, Mr. Styles,” she smiled. “You are too kind. Everyone is doing well and we are all in good health. I see your grandfather is in good health, but how is your brother?”

“Very well,” Harry smiled. “He said so in his last letter. Their last child, baby Henry, was just born a few months ago, and he is a very healthy baby.”

“Yes! Mr. Tomlinson was telling me of his latest nephew. Such joy to have a large family between you too. Well,” she continued as she stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. “This is your room, sir.”

Harry smiled as he stepped inside, already seeing that his trunk was stacked neatly against one of the walls. The windows were large and almost reached the ceiling, and it had a beautiful view of the rest of the land of Donwell, from the fields to the intricate garden to the rolling hills in the distance. It was truly a magnificent property.

“It’s so beautiful,” Harry remarked, looking around in wonder.

“I’m glad you think so, sir,” Mrs. Jennings smiled.

It also occurred to him that this room was one of the farthest from Mr. Tomlinson’s rooms, if he remembered correctly.

“Oh,” he said. “Can you tell me where Mrs. Teasdale and her family are staying? I would like to check later on to see if Timothée has come back yet.” Well, he might. But he wanted to know exactly where his room was first.

“I think they are staying in the east wing, sir,” Mrs. Jennings replied.

The East Wing. Where Mr. Tomlinson’s room was. Of course he would have them close. Harry was really starting to wonder if Sarah had a point about their attachment.

“Thank you,” he sighed.

“And Mr. Warwick is in the room across from this one, Mr. Styles, so you can visit him as often as you like,” she said. “Please let me or one of the servants know if you need anything else, sir.”

“You are ever so helpful, Mrs. Jennings,” he said with a gentle smile. “I thank you.”

She nodded and excused herself, closing the door on the way out.

Harry looked around the room, wondering what to do since it was still a few hours before the ball would begin. After being outside for most of the day, he thought a bath would do him good, so he called for one and had rose petals dropped in the warm water, letting himself soak in it as he was left to his thoughts.

Mr. Tomlinson hadn’t changed much since Harry arrived earlier, still distant and almost cold in his manner. He didn’t know whether to feel offended or not that this coldness was only directed at him and not to the other guests at Donwell. As he played with one of the roses at the surface with his fingers, he wondered if it was even a good idea to dance with him in the first place that night. As much as he enjoyed it, as much as he adored being in his arms like that and having him look at him in such a way that made him melt on the inside, it was not worth having Mr. Tomlinson treat him in such a manner afterwards. They knew how to be such good friends over the years, and his life just felt empty without the older man’s banter, laughs, talks with him.

Well, he was not going to dance with him tonight. That was for sure.

Once he got out of the tub and dried himself, a servant came to help him dress. Even though Mr. Tomlinson would barely notice it, Harry decided to order a brand-new outfit for the ball: a cream colored dress shirt with embroidered red and gold flowers on the sleeves, with matching pants sewn in the same fashion. One he had his shirt chemise on and the servants tightened the stays of his corset, he buttoned up the shirt until it left enough room for his chest to be shown. He took a spin in the mirror, admiring his figure in the beautiful outfit.

He then sat down at the vanity for the servant to do his hair, watching as the brush combed his curls before being brought up into a pinned bun, with a few braids around it as well. Pins with pearls at the top were then put all around the bun to keep it in place, and a few placed near his temple as well. He turned his head a variety of times to look at it in the mirror, happy with the result.

“Can I say you look well, sir?” the servant asked with a smile.

“Thank you,” Harry grinned. “It’s perfect! Don’t let me keep you from your other duties if you need to help others. I can manage for myself now.”

“Very well, sir,” he smiled, and quickly left.

Satisfied with how he looked, he decided to visit his grandfather before going down to the ball. He carefully knocked on the door before he heard his voice to allow him in, and peeked his head inside as he opened it. Mr. Warwick was already sitting by the fire, a book in his hand as he looked up.

“Oh, Harry,” he gasped. “You do look beautiful tonight.”

“I was hoping I would,” Harry smiled. “Thank you, Grandpapa.” He walked over to him, and knelt down in front of his chair. “How are you this evening?”

“Very well, my dear,” Mr. Warwick replied, patting his hand. “As drafty as Donwell is, I have not felt them as much as I thought I would.”

Harry chuckled “Good. Are you sure you do not want to come down, Grandpapa? Dinner will be served and I’m sure you can find a nice fire downstairs if you get too tired.”

“No, my dear,” he smiled. “I do not want to get sick around all those people – who knows what they might bring into this house! - and Mr. Tomlinson had kindly made sure I have a warm fire and new books to read up here with this nice blanket,” he patted the red fabric with one hand. “And I believe Mrs. Teasdale shall visit me once the ball starts and her daughter and grandson go down. Go have your fun, Harry, and do not worry about me. I shall see you in the morning.”

Harry kissed his cheek. “I will then, Grandpapa. Goodnight.” And after giving him a warm hug, he left. He walked down the long hallway until he reached one of the stairwells, and made his way down, passing ever so many servants who were carrying things all over the house. He didn’t see the Rowlands or Winstons yet, which may have been a good sign, but there was still an hour left until the rest of Highbury would be arriving, so Harry thought he should make sure everything was ready just in case.

“Ah, Mr. Styles!” a woman called, and Harry turned to see the housekeeper running towards him.

“Mrs. Jennings?” he asked with a frown. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know where Mr. Tomlinson has gone,” she explained. “And I need someone to direct the servants in the ballroom for the last touches of the decorating. Would you be so kind as to tell them where things should go? I’m sure the master wouldn’t mind if you took over.”

“Oh,” he nodded, wondering where Mr. Tomlinson was in the first place, since this was _his_ ball. “I guess I could.”

She smiled and led him to the ballroom, gasping as he saw its beauty. It was massive, with paintings all around and all three chandeliers lit. Since it sat in a corner of Donwell, it had high windows on two of its sides, so moonlight was able to stream in from more than one wall. Candles were everywhere, almost making it think it was day instead of night. Servants were bustling around the room.

“Where should this go, sir?” a servant asked, holding up a massive bouquet of flowers.

“Over there,” Harry pointed, near one of the empty tables by the windows.

“Thank you, sir,” she said before leaving.

And that’s how the rest of his evening was spent before the ball began, walking around and making sure all the décor was perfect. Refreshments were to be in an adjoining room, so he made sure there was enough ice to be served along with the other drinks.

He noticed Charlotte walking into the ballroom after sending some servants to bring in more chairs for people to sit, and smiled as he walked over to her.

“Oh your dress is so lovely, Charlotte!” he grinned as he hugged her. Her dress was made of pale blue chiffon, draping nicely over her figure.

“And your outfit is beautiful!” she gasped. “Such luxurious silk.”

“Thank you, darling,” he said. “Have you seen Mr. Tomlinson? I had to direct his servants since he wasn’t around.”

“Oh yes he was with me!” she said. “He asked if he could show me more of Donwell since he had some spare time and I agreed.”

“Really?” Harry asked. It didn’t sound like Mr. Tomlinson to just forget his duties. Not when there was a ball in his own house.

The Rowlands and Mr. Grimshaw entered the room then, and they all walked over to Harry and Charlotte.

“Hello, darling,” Mrs. Rowland said, kissing Harry’s cheek. “I’m afraid I won’t be staying for long, and I shall accompany your grandfather in his room once I leave here. I know I will need the rest, and we both know there is no better advocate for resting besides Mr. Warwick.”

“Well if you cannot enjoy the entire ball,” Harry smiled, “I am glad you are to spend the rest of the night with Grandpapa. Even though there’s hardly a day we do not see you, he still misses your presence at Hartfield.” As do I, he wanted to add, but thought it enough that his grandfather’s plight would represent them enough.

“And I’m sure he will want every update of the baby’s health in the past few days,” she laughed, placing a hand over her expanding bump.

“Hello again, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Grimshaw said as he cut in, looking between them both. “I hope you noted how lovely my sister looks in her new dress. I helped my brother pick it out not too long ago.”

“It is a pretty gown, Sarah,” Harry smiled.

“Thank you, dear Harry,” she smiled back. “Now if you both excuse me, I would like for Mr. Rowland to get me a drink before everyone arrives.”

Harry watched as she walked – well, almost waddled but he knew he wasn’t about to tell her that – away in search of her husband, and turned back to Mr. Grimshaw, who offered his arm so they could take a turn about the ballroom together.

“So are you in a better mood now?” Harry asked as he placed his hand over the man’s forearm. “Might even look forward to this ball?”

Mr. Grimshaw chuckled. “Well I am in a much better mood if you must ask, Mr. Styles, and I will never turn down an opportunity to dance. Which reminds me, are you engaged for the first two dances?”

Harry arched an eyebrow. He would much rather he dance with Charlotte, who was currently talking with Mr. Corden and his wife across the room, and cement their love further. But given that there weren’t many gentlemen that Harry would enjoy dancing with, he agreed. “I am not engaged,” he smiled. “Are you planning to ask me?”

“Yes,” Nick smiled. “I had such a lovely time dancing with you at the Crowne, and I knew I wouldn’t want to dance the first dances with anyone but you.”

The mention of the Crowne Inn also reminded Harry of what else happened that night: the start of the demise of him and Mr. Tomlinson’s friendship. But he didn’t want to dwell on it when Nick was right there to distract him from such depressing thoughts, and simply smiled back at him. “Well I am honored, Mr. Grimshaw. I shall take it as a compliment that you dote on me so.”

“Well you are the most beautiful carrier in all of Highbury,” Nick replied.

“Even more than Timothée Chalamet?”

Mr. Grimshaw gasped. “Of course! Oh how can you compare yourself to him, Mr. Styles? For you are infinitely better at everything. And who could attach themselves to such a sickly, reserved person like he is? Oh no. You are most definitely the superior carrier in the Highbury – nay, Surrey!”

“Oh this is too much flattery, Mr. Grimshaw,” Harry giggled, noticing that more and more people were arriving, and Mr. Tomlinson entered the ballroom, with Timothée Chalamet next to him and Miss Teasdale on his other side. If their relationship had been like before, he would’ve made his way towards Mr. Tomlinson to talk about the guests arriving, and sharing gossip even though the older man acted like he didn’t want to hear it. But that would never happen now, and it sent a wave of suffocating sadness through his body, trying to sigh it out. “Clearly I am not much better than him, as Mr. Tomlinson likes to remind me,” he said with a nod towards them.

Nick followed his glance and coughed once he saw them. “Well Mr. Tomlinson is clearly wrong, Mr. Styles,” he said easily. “Like I already said, who would want a reserved carrier when a much more entertaining one is present?”

Harry giggled, leading him towards the drawing room. They continued to converse there until all the guests had arrived and dinner was called, to which Mr. Grimshaw escorted Harry to. With the Rowlands, the Eltons, the Cordens, and almost all the important families of Highbury all under one roof, it was quite a boisterous party once everyone was rounded up. Mrs. Elton was given the honorary spot at the other end of the table, happily basking in it as carriers from all families came to speak with her. And Harry was left to sit right in the middle of the long table, but at least he had Mr. Grimshaw by his side, so they could keep to their conversation. Charlotte and Mrs. Rowland were sitting on either side of Mr. Tomlinson, who of course was at the head of the table. When Harry asked for Mr. Corden to pass him the salt, his eyes met with Louis’, neither of them tearing their gazes away for a few moments. But then Mr. Grimshaw asked Harry’s advice on something, and he quickly had to turn away and focus on the conversation he was having with Mr. Horan.

After dinner, they all retreated to the drawing rooms, where everyone seemed merry. Harry walked among the crowd, stopping to converse with people here and there, making sure no one was snubbed. He avoided Mrs. Winston as much as he could though, not wanting to hear what thoughts she had about the ball so far. Eventually he found Mr. Grimshaw laughing with a group of carriers and gentlemen, and Timothée Chalamet happened to be sitting next to him.

“What is happening here?” Harry giggled.

“Oh there you are, Mr. Styles! We found these loose letters,” Mr. Grimshaw explained pointing to the table in front of them, scattered wooden letters all over, “which we assume belong to one of your nephews, and we decided to play a game with them. Everyone creates words, jumbles them, and passes them off to the next person for them to solve! Come and join us” He said as he shuffled over and patted the seat next to him.

Harry obliged, sitting beside him.

“You know,” Mr. Grimshaw said in a low voice. “I think your outfit is truly the prettiest one here.”

Harry blushed at the compliment. “Well thank you, sir,” he chuckled. “You are too kind.”

“Do not thank me for stating the truth, Mr. Styles,” he smiled, looking up from the mound of letters in his hand.

“Miss Teasdale was telling Grandpapa that he received a letter from Ireland that made him very happy,” Harry giggled in an equally low voice. “Perhaps from Mr. Baxter?”

“Perhaps,” Nick smirked. “But let us test those waters, shall we?”

Harry frowned as Mr. Grimshaw nodded to his hand, showing him the letters he had jumbled in his palm: B A X T E R.

“Do not!” Harry hissed but watched as Nick did it anyway, tapping the man with his other hand.

“Mr. Chalamet?” The gentleman asked. “Would you like to unscramble these letters?”

Timothée frowned slightly, holding his hand out for the man to drop them. He carefully looked over each letter, his frowns once he realized what they said. “I thought you could not use proper words,” he said, brows knotted as he looked up at Mr. Grimshaw.

The other man simply smirked at him before turning back to Harry, who was mortified that Nick had done such a display like that. It was one thing to make gossip amongst themselves, but it was an entirely different instance to involve Timothée as well. “Well I-”

“Dancing is about to begin,” came a voice from above, and Harry turned to see Mr. Tomlinson standing behind their seat, hands clasped behind his back. “I hope you will all join.” His eyes went around the group as they all whispered in excitement, until they fell on Harry, who met his glance uneasily.

“Oh, Mr. Styles?” Mr. Grimshaw asked. “You do remember I claimed the first dance with you?”

“Yes,” Harry answered looking up at Mr. Tomlinson, who quickly averted his eyes and excused himself. “You do have the first and second dance, Mr. Grimshaw.”

“Then let us go!” one of the carriers said, grabbing her partner by the arm and making her way towards the ballroom.

Another gentleman came to offer Timothée his arm and ask for the first dance, which he accepted and let himself be led out as well.

“Shall we go?” Mr. Grimshaw asked, offering his own.

Harry nodded, placing his hand on his arm. The ballroom looked just as spectacular as before, now with the band in place at one end of the room and all ready to play for the first dance. Mrs. Rowland came up to Harry before it started. “Mr. Tomlinson has asked Charlotte to open the dance with him!” she whispered.

“He has?” Harry frowned, and sure enough he saw Mr. Tomlinson walking to the dancefloor with Ms. Clark on his arm.

Well at least it’s not Timothée Chalamet, he thought to himself.

The first dance was a lively jig, with everyone standing in a circle before the music began, then dancing around once it did. They clapped and hollered to the tune beat, Harry laughing as Mr. Grimshaw twirled him around. He happened to see Mr. Tomlinson laughing as well with Charlotte, clearly in conversation as they danced. It made Harry wonder if he was going to dance with his old friend as well, but given the older man’s behavior in the past few weeks, he doubted it. Why would he ask him to dance when they’ve barely been able to have a conversation together? No. Harry wouldn’t have to worry about that.

And Harry decided the rest of his night would be spent the same way. He sat out for some dances, accepted the hands of other gentlemen who asked him to dance and enjoyed every jig he stood up for. Eventually he noticed that Mrs. Rowland wasn’t around the ballroom, and after checking all the other rooms, he realized she must’ve retired for the night already. He went to Mr. Rowland to confirm it.

“Ah yes, Harry,” he nodded. “She was excessively tired and decided to go back upstairs to our rooms. I do believe she plans to check in on Mr. Warwick before she decides to go to bed, though, so have no worry about your grandfather.”

Harry smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Rowland. Ever since she became with child I’ve been most scrupulous on making sure her health is at its best, but I know I have no worries when you are taking care of her. For you must be so excited to meet your new baby!”

“Oh I am,” Mr. Rowland beamed. “When she told me the news of our child, I don’t think I ever smiled more in my lifetime. I just hope her confinement goes well as well as the birth, but I try not to worry her with my concerns. I want her happy and well during these next few months.”

Seeing Mr. Rowland blossom into a husband and father – so different from the man he had grown up knowing – was everything Harry could’ve wanted. And he liked to privately remind himself that he was the person behind them coming together in the first place, so he simply smiled as he excused himself.

As he went to go get another drink, however, he was stopped in his tracks by Mr. Grimshaw.

“Mr. Styles!” Mr. Grimshaw said. “I was wondering where you went off to!”

“I have been in this ballroom same as you, Mr. Grimshaw,” Harry chuckled. “I hope you are having an enjoyable time?”

“Of course I have! Such lively carriers that Highbury has to dance with. Which reminds me, may I have the next dance?”

Harry enjoyed dancing with him, but as he was about to give him a favorable answer, another voice beat him to it.

“No,” Mr. Tomlinson said out loud, stepping towards them from behind.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Grimshaw slightly frowned, a smile playing on his lips as he glanced between Harry and Mr. Tomlinson, like he could not believe what he was hearing.

“Harry has promised the next dance to me,” Mr. Tomlinson explained, turning to face Harry. And by the look of it, it wasn’t necessarily a dance that Harry could refuse.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grimshaw,” Harry said, “but I did forget that I promised this dance to Mr. Tomlinson. Can we dance later?”

“Of course,” Nick smiled, bowing his head before walking away.

Harry turned to see Mr. Tomlinson offering his gloved hand, and with a deep breath, he accepted it, his gaze going from their hands to the other man’s face, who was not looking back at him as he guided them to the other waiting couples on the dancefloor. Having not expected to dance with him in the first place, Harry was at amiss on how to act. He knew he couldn’t talk as he did with other gentlemen, or even Mr. Grimshaw. And he didn’t think Mr. Tomlinson would even enjoy dancing with him after the first time. So how dare he do something like this? Barely a word spoken all night to him and he had to go and ruin a potential dance with Mr. Grimshaw.

The music began, and Harry bowed to the older man. He recognized the tune that started to play, and huffed. He seemed to have all the luck to dance waltzes with Mr. Tomlinson. The older man stepped forward as did Harry, and they danced around each other in the middle along with the other couples. They stayed silent for a few moments, but when it was clear Mr. Tomlinson didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood, he couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

“Why did you not let me dance with Nick?” he hissed as the other man twirled him. “You’re very lucky I went along with that lie.”

“Because I needed to talk to you,” Mr. Tomlinson said with a narrow stare.

“While dancing?” Harry pressed. “It couldn’t have waited until later?” He could’ve been more snappish but decided against it, letting him lead as they held hands to dance down the row together.

“Would you rather have another partner?” Mr. Tomlinson said easily. “You liked how we danced at the Crowne Inn didn’t you?”

Harry felt his face flush. _I’m not sure if you did,_ he wanted to answer, but knew he didn’t want to argue so much while dancing. “Then what did you need to talk about?”

“What word did Mr. Grimshaw share with you that made you both laugh and seemed to cause Mr. Chalamet distress?” Mr. Tomlinson asked.

“Oh,” Harry laughed, raising his arm up to turn again. “That was Nick’s fault! I told him not to do it.”

“And what was it?”

“If I told you, you’d disapprove. Us young people like to have games, Mr. Tomlinson, that you wouldn’t understand.”

His face seemed to harden and gave no reply.

“I cannot believe you only wanted to dance with me for this,” Harry hissed. “Not even-” He stopped himself before he said something he’d regret. He wanted to tell him how his manner has changed so, how he felt that he didn’t know him anymore, how he asked to share a dance and still acted so cold towards him.

“Go on,” Mr. Tomlinson challenged.

“No,” Harry said simply. “I’d rather not.” Not in front of all the people, at least.

They stayed silent and continued to dance. Even through their gloves, Harry could feel the warmth of Mr. Tomlinson’s hand, and despite his distant nature towards him, there was still the same warmth in his eyes that Harry had come to love. But it was so hard to continue to love a man that did not love him in return, and having moments where they were able to dance like this only hurt him further. How was he supposed to bear standing so close to Mr. Tomlinson, feeling his very energy, his aura, towards him and knowing there was no chance that the man would ever see him as anything more than friend. And Harry started to doubt that they were even friends anymore.

But no matter if Mr. Tomlinson found him disagreeable, it still didn’t excuse his behavior towards him. They had known each other for so long, so so long, longer than most friends have, yet Harry never knew him to be so distant like this. Harry still deserved to be treated like a friend, whether Mr. Tomlinson wanted to or not.

The music stopped, and everyone had to bow to their partners. But Harry simply walked away before Mr. Tomlinson could do or say anything, trying not to push his way as he walked through the crowd of people. Everyone seemed to be having fun, laughing away and drinking and dancing as the next dance was going to start, but Harry didn’t care. He decided to get himself a drink.

He heard the music start for another dance, and he would’ve liked to join, but Mr. Grimshaw was already dancing with Charlotte, which at least brought a small smile to his face. That would definitely bring them closer together, especially if Nick asked for more dances with her.

Then he spotted Mr. Tomlinson dancing with Mr. Chalamet. And he was laughing and smiling at him, in conversation and his face ever so animated. Looking nothing like he looked when he danced with Harry. It broke his heart.

So Harry decided he needed a break from everything and walked away, feeling like the air was leaving his lungs too quickly. He left the ballroom for one of the other rooms, which was crowded and boisterous and already gave him a headache. He spotted an open door in the corner, and made a bee line for it. He desperately needed a place to decompress, and quickly went into the other room. It was considerably less filled than the ballroom, but there were still people around mingling. So Harry went to the other side of the room and found a hallway that more people were walking around in. Luckily he found a darkened room, which looked to be a drawing room, open and quickly went to it. He left the door slightly open, a sliver of light shining on the carpet in the darkness.

And with that, Harry leaned against one of the walls, trying to catch his breath.

Why had Mr. Tomlinson acted in that way? Why was his disdain only aimed towards him and no other carrier? Nothing has felt the same since the ball at the Crowne Inn, and Harry wished he knew why. His only answer was that Mr. Tomlinson was not interested in him in the slightest, did not love him, and certainly never would. His love was probably reserved for Timothée Chalamet. There was no way for him to know for certain, but Harry prided himself on knowing other people’s hearts, and it was clear something of that nature had affected Mr. Tomlinson, and in turn affected their relationship. Was this Mr. Tomlinson’s way of trying to distance himself from Harry because he fell in love with another carrier?

But oh, the way they danced. Even though Harry was quite put out by how and why it happened, he couldn’t deny how wonderfully his body reacted to being held by Mr. Tomlinson again. The feel of his hand on his waist, the small of his back. Perhaps Mr. Tomlinson did find him attractive, but not enough to marry. He was only good enough to bed, not wed.

Suddenly the door opened more, and a man stepped inside the room. And Harry could recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Mr. Tomlinson?”

The gentleman settled his eyes on him, seeming to sigh.

“What are you doing here, Harry?”

“Why would you care?” He snorted, turning his face away, deciding to focus on the window in front of him against the other wall. The half-moon was out, but hidden behind some large clouds, only creating a grey glow to signify its presence. Somehow, that was Timothée Chalamet’s fault. He knew it. “This is your ball and you should be attending to your guests. Not worrying about what I am doing. Go dance or something!”

“I saw you run off and wanted to know if you’re alright.”

“I’m not alright. I needed air and you’re in it right now.”

“Will you stop?” Mr. Tomlinson huffed. “I just want to know if you’re alright or need to lay down. I can fetch you some water.”

Leave it to his friend to still be civil even when Harry was trying to pick a fight with him, as he usually did. “I shall be fine in a few minutes if I am left alone.”

“I’m not sure you should be left alone,” Mr. Tomlinson replied, taking steps towards him.

Harry felt like screaming, but just hardened his jaw instead. “You have a lot of nerve to be caring for me right now.”

“What?”

“I- never mind,” Harry huffed, turning his head away from him. “I don’t know why you even danced with me.”

“Because I wanted to?” Mr. Tomlinson scoffed, now standing right in front of Harry and blocking his cloudy view of the moon.

“No,” Harry jeered, narrowing his eyes. “You only danced with me to berate me about a joke and to keep me from Mr. Grimshaw. Not because you wanted to. I know you better than to lie, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“You really think I wouldn’t like to dance with you?”

“You clearly don’t!” Harry cried. “You’ve only danced with me twice in my life and the second one you looked absolutely miserable. If you find me so unattractive fine but you can at least allow me to dance with other-”

And that’s when it happened. Harry’s mind went blank as he realized Louis’ lips were on his own, soft yet firm as they molded to his own. Now, Harry has kissed gentlemen before. It was just an amusement for him to give them pecks and leave them blushing, waiting for more that Harry would never give. But this, this kiss felt different. Maybe because Mr. Tomlinson had more experience, or the fact that Harry’s heart actually belonged to him, but the way his lips moved against his, like they were following their own dance, just made Harry’s bones turn to jelly.

In the surprise of the moment, Harry didn’t know where to put his hands, so they just remained still in the air, hovering over Mr. Tomlinson’s body yet never touching him, like he wasn’t allowed the pleasure. The other man did the same, with only their lips touching, his head turning to deepen the kiss. It felt like Mr. Tomlinson was kissing all his worries away, the stress melting from Harry’s body and head only focusing on how good the kiss felt.

But as soon as it started, it ended just as quickly. Harry opened his eyes to see Mr. Tomlinson pulling away, eyes fluttering as he swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Tomlinson whispered as he stepped back. “Forgive me. This never happened.”

And before Harry could respond, the older man quickly walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Harry could only lean back against the wall, bringing his fingers up to touch his lips. Mr. Tomlinson had kissed him. _Kissed him_. So what did that mean? As wonderful as it felt, it only dumped another hundred questions inside his head, still floating about with no answers in sight. Harry didn’t go back to the dance after that. He went back to his room, had the servant help him take off his outfit and change into his night shift, and sat down by the window, gazing up at the moon, which now had no clouds to block its beauty. Maybe she could tell him what has been wrong with Mr. Tomlinson lately, and why their relationship had suffered so.

At least there was one thing he did know: Mr. Tomlinson couldn’t have been helplessly in love with Timothée Chalamet if he had kissed Harry in that manner. No chance at all.

✺

After a very charged night and making sure all of his guests got to their carriages while the others went to their rooms, Louis found that he could only muster an hour or two of sleep, his thoughts rumbling loudly in his head. This was why he didn’t want to host balls. His limbs were tired, his body ached, but his brain was running a thousand meters per hour, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He decided an early ride around the grounds of Donwell would do him good, so that’s exactly what he decided to do.

He rode Beth to the top of some hills, taking in the early morning gloriousness of the land. Summer had brought the very green pastures back, with the trees in full bloom of their flowers and fruits. He had to admit his favorite season came in autumn, when the trees would turn their beautiful rustic shades and the harvesting season would begin before the winter. He could see Abbey Mill Farm in the distance as well, and noticed a single man working on the fields. Probably Mr. Heyer, who took his work very seriously on the farm, getting up before everyone to make sure he could provide for his home. And he deserved to have a carrier to share it with. Which made Louis think of the fact that he wanted a carrier to share Donwell with as well.

The topic of marriage had never given him much thought throughout the years. When he inherited Donwell Abbey, he had heard rumors about him choosing a carrier to marry soon, for the sake of having children to inherit the estate as well. But while many carriers were thrown at him by their families, no one ever felt right. There was always something missing about them, but he could never figure out what. And well, he did have needs that a man had, and he was able to meet them in ways that didn’t require a marriage, but he never knew nor wanted to find someone he would marry just to bed them. So he decided he would only marry for love, for someone that would make him a better man, a better person, someone who would own his heart. Someone he wanted to have children with, wondering how they would look like as they grew.

And that someone was currently asleep in his home, and thinking of another man. He didn’t know what Harry saw in Mr. Grimshaw, what that man had that he didn’t have, but it nearly killed him to see them so happy in each other’s company. So carefree, so clearly in love. It also hurt him to know that Harry had noticed the way he was treating him in a different manner, but his only consolation that it was for both of their own goods. For Louis, to keep his heart from breaking more, and Harry, to… well. He knew there was a reason it would benefit Harry as well. And he was more than sure that Harry’s outbursts last night were because of it. How was Louis supposed to tell him he couldn’t laugh, smile or even talk to him without falling more in love? Yes, he wanted to know about whatever game Harry was playing with Mr. Grimshaw, but Louis had missed the way they danced at the Crowne Inn. Even though they were both wearing gloves this time, he could still feel the energy radiating off of Harry as they danced. He cherished every touch, every look they shared during the night.

But it wasn’t until he found Harry alone that his feelings truly burst. He had seen Harry almost running out of the ballroom while he danced, so once he was able to leave Timothée, he followed his beloved carrier out. He didn’t see him in any of the sitting rooms, but remembered there were a few empty rooms left open along the hallways. And sure enough he found him standing there against the wall, looking so angelic in the moonlight, the darkness of the room surrounding him. And they argued as before, and Harry was being such a brat, clearly not wanting his presence, but he couldn’t keep quiet once he heard him say _“if you find me so unattractive”_

As if the past month of misery hasn’t been due to just how attracted he was to him. And on an impulse that he simply could not control, he kissed him without another thought. He could not say the words, nor expose his feelings in such a way, but perhaps such a kiss would definitely not have Harry thinking he found him unattractive.

“What a mess this has been,” Mr. Tomlinson muttered to himself, focusing on the landscape before him. The sun had already risen in the distance, creating a nice glow to the morning’s light. He knew he should be getting back home, so he quickly turned Beth around and rode her back to Donwell. Despite the sun being fully up by now, he knew no one would be up after the night they had. Everyone would still be sleeping in their rooms, not knowing when they would wake up. Besides, their outing for Box Hill was scheduled in the afternoon. They had plenty of time to rest until then.

He still felt restless once he reached Donwell, and decided to take a swim in the lake in front of it. He quickly gave Beth away to one of the stable hands, and almost ran while taking off most of his clothing, shrugging off his coat, undressing until he was left in just his trousers.

After making sure his clothes were hanging from a branch and away from the water, he dove into the lake headfirst, feeling the cold water against his warm skin. He swam around for a while, fully submerging himself at times. This was also when he realized it had been a long time since he went fishing in the lake, and would probably be a good idea to invite Mr. Warwick one day to do so. Finally feeling refreshed after a quarter hour swim, he drudged back to the shallow water and made his way out, drying himself as much as possible before taking his clothes and walking back to the main house.

As he thought about what else he had to instruct the servants about for their excursion later, he heard a gasp in front of him and quickly looked up to see Harry’s bright green eyes going wide, his mouth agape.

“Mr. Tomlinson!”

“Harry?”

They stood a few feet apart from each other, motionless. Harry was already up and dressed, a shawl around him as he walked. His hair was up in a loose updo, with strands of curls falling around his face. Louis wanted to kiss every curl away from his face, but all he was left with was staring at him as he stood there in his very wet clothes.

“What-What are you doing here?” Harry started, trying to look away but his eyes were still roaming his body. If it were any other person, Louis would be horrified to see him in such a state of almost nakedness, but given that it was the man he loved, he felt at ease and almost aroused to be so meticulously looked over.

But Harry did have some never to be asking what _he_ was doing on his own property. “I was just swimming in the lake!” Louis explained, gesturing towards it. “These are my grounds, if you don’t recall. And I took the liberty of taking a swim when I thought no one would be looking. Why are you even awake, Harry?”

“I couldn’t sleep! Because of you!”

“Me?” Louis’ eyes went wide. What could- Oh. The kiss perhaps?

Harry was in no mood to elaborate, though, and simply shook his head furiously. “Never mind! Just put something on!” he said before storming off.

Louis continued to stand there as he watched him walk away, still wondering what on earth happened in the past few minutes. But he knew he wasn’t imaging the arousal he saw on Harry’s face as he looked at him. For that he was certain he did not envision.

“Do you need your horse again sir?” a servant asked once Louis reached the stables to check on Beth.

“Yes, Michael,” he answered. “Have her ready to ride in a few hours once we go to Box Hill. My carriage shall take Miss Teasdale and her nephew.”

“Very well, sir,” Michael nodded.

And as he made his way to his room to change, he found his steward waiting for him on the stairs.

“Good morning, Rodgers,” Louis smiled, nodding to him as he passed his wet clothes to one of the other servants.

“Good morning, sir,” the man grinned. “I trust you had a pleasant ride?”

“I did,” he nodded, walking up the steps. “I needed it after the events of last night.”

“I’d say the ball was a great success,” Mr. Rodgers said.

“I hope so,” Mr. Tomlinson sighed. “Hopefully Mrs. Winston is pleased in seeing it in all its glory.”

Calvin nodded. “You know I am not one to gossip, sir,” he said, which made Louis roll his eyes since he knew his steward loved to gossip. “But I heard something about one of your guests.”

“Oh?” he responded. “Is it in their favor?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Mr. Rodgers said, lowering his voice. “I heard Mr. Grimshaw had company last night. In his room.”

Mr. Tomlinson felt his eyebrows rising. “Did he?”

Calvin nodded. “One of the servants told me a carrier was seen coming out from his bedchamber not long after everyone went to sleep.”

Louis didn’t want to think that that carrier could possibly be Harry. “Well I only had to house him for one night,” he replied. “I do not care who he is bringing to his bed.”

“I agree, sir,” Mr. Rodgers nodded. They continued to walk up the steps until they reached the top floor. “I shall leave you now. I have some work to do before you all go to Box Hill.”

Mr. Tomlinson nodded. “Thank you, Rodgers.”

“Oh! Was that Mr. Styles I saw walking around the grounds?”

“Yes,” Louis grunted. “He ran into me as I came back from my swim. I did not think he would be up so early.”

“Hm,” Mr. Rodgers. “Very well, sir. Good day.”

Louis wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what Calvin was thinking at that moment. Possibly connecting the fact that Harry was up early and there was a mystery carrier in Mr. Grimshaw’s room last night. Because he still held onto the hope that Harry was not in fact sleeping with someone like Nick Grimshaw, and there had just been a mistake, even though there had been multiple signs to it.

He just had to hope those rumors weren’t true, for his own heart’s sake.

✺

“Is your grandfather not joining us, Harry?” Nick asked as they walked along the grass.

The group was already walking up Box Hill, a crew of servants in front and behind them carrying all the supplies needed for their picnic, the day sunny as a nice wind picked up, and Harry walking next to Nick Grimshaw. Even though he had tried to pay attention to his conversation, his mind was still very far away thinking of the events in the past day. He had woken up that morning ever so tired, from all the tossing and turning he did. He could still feel the burn of Mr. Tomlinson’s lips on his own, and he still didn’t know what to think of him. So instead of moping in bed in the early hour, he decided to take a morning stroll to clear his mind and walk the beautiful grounds of Donwell.

What he didn’t expect was to run into Mr. Tomlinson in the nude. Well, not completely nude, but he might as well have been. Thankfully he wasn’t able to see his bare bum, but he got to see his bare chest through the transparent shirt, the golden tint of his skin under the golden hair.

He looked good. _Too_ good. Harry could see every outline of his toned stomach through the wet fabric, and it made his mouth water. It didn’t help that Mr. Tomlinson seemed to be very aware that he was being watched in such a way, and still allowed it to happen. It was ever so mortifying!

Which is why he couldn’t even spare a glance towards him once their party was put together to go to Box Hill. Harry rode in his own carriage with Charlotte while Mrs. Winston rode in Mr. Tomlinson’s carriage with Timothée Chalamet and Miss Teasdale. The rest of the men rode on horseback alongside the carriages, with Harry catching a look here and there at Mr. Tomlinson riding away.

When they finally reached the area, Harry stuck close to Mr. Grimshaw and Charlotte, not wanting to think of anything else. But Charlotte was discussing something with Mr. Horan as they walked up, which left Harry alone to talk with Nick.

Harry shook his head at the question he happened to hear. “No. He prefers the indoors and preferred to stay behind with Mrs. Rowland instead of traveling here. They are probably at Hartfield by now, and will wait there until Mr. Rowland goes to bring her to Randalls.”

“I see he is wise,” Mr. Grimshaw replied, with grunt. “For it is unbearably hot.”

“Would you like my parasol?” Harry asked, twirling it along his fingers as he glanced at it.

“Only if you let me hold it for you,” Nick said with a smirk.

Harry smiled as he offered it, and they both walked comfortably the rest of the way up. While the servants set up the picnic, the rest of the party decided to go explore before coming back to eat, so Harry went walking about with Nick. They stopped near the top of the hill, and Harry was entranced with the beauty of the country. Even though it was hot, it was worth the heat to be able to see miles away from just the top of one hill. He didn’t know what town he could see in the distance – Mr. Tomlinson would probably know – but to see the bright green pastures of rolling hills, the wildlife in its home with stags running about, birds flying up above, it just took his breath away.

Given that he had never been to London, or really out of Highbury, going to Box Hill was the farthest he’s ever been outside of Highbury, and it only made him long to see more. Not much more, not Switzerland or Venice like Mr. Grimshaw wanted to see, but he wouldn’t mind seeing more of England. And as much as it pained him to think about it, the only person he’d really like to travel with would be Mr. Tomlinson. But when the man can barely spare a glance at him – but kiss him apparently, which Harry was still trying to understand – he knew those hopes were simply a dream that would never happen.

Mr. Tomlinson would marry Mr. Chalamet, and Harry would never leave Hartfield.

✺

Louis was never really keen on going to Box Hill, especially the day after a ball was held in his home.

But now he really regretted coming along when he saw just how friendly Harry and Mr. Grimshaw planned to be in front of everyone that afternoon. As they all sat on the ground under the shade of the trees, Harry decided to sit next to Mr. Grimshaw on the same blanket, eating and laughing in their own little bubble while everyone else conversed about other things. Louis decided to sit next to Miss Teasdale and keep her company along with her nephew. As they ate their sandwiches and biscuits, Louis was forced to watch Harry sitting there whispering and giggling with Frank, looking around the group with mischievous eyes and going back to whispering in the other man’s ear. It didn’t matter how delicious the food was on his tongue, he could only taste the bitter jealousy boiling inside him. He knew Harry wasn’t for himself, but it still hurt to see him being so openly flirtatious with another man. It didn’t help matters when Nick suddenly decided to lay down, and place his head on Harry’s lap, who didn’t seem to mind it one bit.

“I know you are famous for your matchmaking skills, Harry,” Nick began, loud enough for the entire party to hear. “So I command you to find me a carrier that would be the perfect partner. Take them under your wing, educate them, make them _perfect_.”

“As you wish,” Harry laughed, who shared a glance with Charlotte. “What kind of qualities do you want?”

“Well,” Nick began. “I would like for them to have… green eyes! Yes, for they are the prettiest eyes I’ve seen.”

_Like Harry’s green eyes._

“I see!” Harry grinned. “What else?”

“Curls, of course,” Nick explained. “Curls that look like they’ve been carved by angels and shaped by the ocean waves themselves. And of course very accomplished, as any carrier should be.”

“One could say you are describing Harry, Mr. Grimshaw,” Mr. Horan chuckled, plopping a piece of bread in his mouth.

“And I’m not sure if he wants to,” Mrs. Winston muttered to her husband.

“I declare,” Nick announced, turning his face to the party. “While it was not my intention in the slightest, I believe that Mr. Styles and I would have beautiful children. Do you not think so Mitch?”

Children. No. No. No. Louis did not want to think about the possibility of Harry bearing another man’s children.

Miss Teasdale laughed as Mr. Rowland nodded. “I think so,” Mitch agreed. “But I hope they would have Harry’s looks and temperament.”

“Don’t be silly, Mr. Rowland,” Harry laughed, and happened to glance over at Louis before quickly averting his eyes back to Nick.

Seeing him lay his head on Harry’s lap, like they were some married couple already while they laughed and joked, was just too much to bear. He knew his face must be looking like a scowl, but Louis couldn’t care less to make his expression more acceptable. If anyone asked he could blame it on the heat.

“Let us play a game,” Mr. Grimshaw declared again, sitting up from Harry’s lap. “I think we are much in need of entertainment. So answer this, friends: if each person was a food, what would they taste like?”

“What fun!” Mr. Horan declared. “Shall we go around the circle?”

Nick nodded. “Ms. Teasdale,” he said. “Let us start with you. What kind of food would Miss Teasdale be, dear party?”

“A baked apple tart!” Charlotte cried out.

“Oh I do enjoy a good baked apple!” Miss Teasdale laughed.

“Then we all agree Ms. Teasdale would be an apple tart if she were a food,” Mr. Grimshaw proclaimed, with the rest of the group laughing. “Now how about Mr. Chalamet?”

They continued to go around the group and laugh at the foods mentioned for each person, with Mr. Rowland being decreed a salmon skillet. “I am not that cross,” he chuckled. Charlotte was declared a sweet peach tart, which she blushed as the others cheered. But when it came Mrs. Winston’s turn, she decided she was above participating.

“I do not play such games,” she answered, snapping at Mr. Winston to get up and help her up as well. “I think I shall like to explore more. Will you join us, Timothée?”

Mr. Chalamet shook his head, and the Winstons left the picnic.

“A bunch of sour spots,” Nick smirked. “But I guess they suit each other, do they not? Met in a public place for a short amount of time and managed to be as unappealing as each other. They complete each other in that sense.”

“Do not be cruel, Mr. Grimshaw!” Ms. Teasdale laughed.

“Well at least they are well matched in temperaments,” Nick mused. “He got to know her in such a short amount of time, and he was lucky that she ended up suiting him. How unfortunate the other men who form attachments in that time and end up regretting it for the rest of their lives.”

Mr. Tomlinson frowned at that declaration, wondering what it could mean. Or if it was directed at someone within their party in particular?

“Well let us continue our game!” Mr. Rowland said. “Is it not Harry’s turn?”

“I do believe it is,” Mr. Grimshaw smirked, turning to face the carrier. “I think I shall answer for him. I think, a cherry pie would be exactly how Mr. Styles would taste.”

Louis almost choked on his drink. He did not hear right. Cherry? As in what Mr. Horan said the flavor of the oils Mr. Grimshaw had purchased? And he saw Harry’s flush at the mention. He knew he wasn’t the only one to notice when Niall looked over at him with a pointed stare. He must’ve remembered the rumors Mr. Corden was saying at their party that one night. An even deeper dread dug into his middle the more Louis thought of it.

“Do you now?” Harry cackled in response, and went on as if nothing was amiss.

Mr. Tomlinson wanted to think it was all a coincidence, but the final straw came when the game was over, and Mr. Grimshaw went back to sitting close to Harry. Louis watched as Mr. Grimshaw leaned over, whispering something to Harry as he pulled something out of his pocket.

“My hairpin!” Harry grinned. “I have been looking all over for it! Thank you, Mr. Grimshaw.”

His _hairpin_? Why would Harry ever have his hair down if…. Oh. So he was sleeping with Mr. Grimshaw. They had slept together in his own home. Under his roof. In Donwell. And who knows where else. Harry was the carrier that came out of Nick’s room last night. Images of them embracing in bed, Nick’s hand over the curves of Harry’s body, kissing him in places that he had no right to even see… it made him nauseous. While he was not in a position to judge Harry for sleeping with someone before marriage, he at least thought him better than to be sharing his bed with Nick Grimshaw, of all people. But Louis couldn’t deny that he was jealous, and it was clouding his judgement more than he liked.

But he still needed to speak to Harry. No matter what his own thoughts were, Harry was going to be the subject of more gossip and possibly ruin his reputation forever if that affair didn’t stop or end in a marriage soon.

 _Marriage_. Oh. He had been too busy thinking of them fucking under his roof that he forgot there was every possibility of them marrying and Harry not only leaving Highbury for good, but Louis losing him in all senses in the same process.

“Those are storm clouds in the distance,” Mr. Rowland noted, looking up at the sky. “I think we can all explore for a little while longer before leaving. I did promise my wife I would bring her back some wild flowers from our journey.”

“Quite right!” Mr. Grimshaw said, standing up and asking for Harry’s hand. “May I escort you?”

“Only if you take Charlotte as well,” Harry smiled, taking his hand and rising from the ground. The trio walked away in one direction, with Louis unable to take his eyes off Harry as he left. He decided he would try to find him later and have a private conversation, away from gossiping ears.

✺

“Is it not a lovely outing, Mr. Grimshaw?” Harry asked as they walked. He liked having the gentleman in the middle with Charlotte on the other side, hoping this would be an opportunity for them to talk more. And while they did seem like they enjoyed each other’s company, Harry decided they needed a little more of a push. So he devised a simple plan.

“Oh my shoe!” he gasped, kneeling down on the ground to pretend the laces had come undone.

“Are you alright, Mr. Styles?” Nick asked, stopping in place to face him.

“Quite alright,” Harry huffed. “But I am afraid my lace has come undone. Please continue without me and I shall join you shortly.”

“Are you sure, Harry?” Charlotte asked, concern in her voice. “We can always wait for you.”

Harry shook his head. “No I could never allow that. Our time here is most pressing, and I would not like to keep you all from enjoying the day. Go on!”

Mr. Grimshaw nodded, offering his arm to Charlotte and they walked away, already chatting about something. Harry smiled to himself as he watched them go, making sure they were very far away before venturing himself. He decided to take another route and enjoy the solitude instead. He liked admiring the view in peace, taking in the fresh scents of the land as he surveyed it.

But almost out of thin air, dark storm clouds emerged in the sky, quickly moving with the wing. Wisps of grey clouds started to rumble from above, and he could see flashes of light in some of the other clouds.

“Oh no,” he gasped. And before he could run for cover, a pour of water started to drench him, like a bucket was just being dumped from the sky. He knew his outfit was ruined already, but he had to take cover before he could actually catch a cold and send his grandfather into a dizzying state of worry. He could see a Grecian temple on the other side of the hill, something he had planned to explore later on in the day, but since the rain had effectively cut off their plans for further travel, he might as well take cover there. So he ran as fast as his legs could take him through the damp ground, wiping off raindrops that fell on his face and almost obstructed his view. Finally he reached the massive stone building, looking at it in wonder as he climbed the steps and nailing himself to the walls, trying to catch his breath as he stared up at its columns.

“Harry!”

Harry whirled around to see Mr. Tomlinson standing there, soaked to the bone as well. Water was dripping from his face as he breathed heavy.

“Mr. Tomlinson?” he gasped. “What are you doing here?” And where did he even come from? Harry thought he was walking with Timothée and his aunt.

“I was following you before the rain started and ran once it did,” the older man swallowed. “I must- I must speak with you about something. I must speak my mind.”

“Speak with me?” Harry said. “Mr. Tomlinson, I don’t think the weather calls for this right now. We are both drenched in our best clothes and need to find a way home!”

“We will have to stay here until the weather clears and I would much rather be talking about this in the comfort of either of our homes, but I don’t think this can wait,” Louis began. “There are rumors about you, Harry, and… it pains me to hear them in your honor.”

Harry frowned. “Rumors?”

“About your acquaintance with Mr. Grimshaw.”

“What about it?” That they were friends?

“That you-” he sighed, averting his eyes, “that you have already lain with him.”

Harry found himself speechless. Lain with him? Him? Mr. Grimshaw? Well he might have found himself infatuated at one point, but that was because he was new to Highbury and interesting. He was much better company than Timothée Chalamet anyways, and Harry liked being entertained. He would never have thought himself stupid enough to bed Mr. Grimshaw, no matter where they stood.

“Your silence seems to be a confirmation of it, then,” Mr. Tomlinson whispered, one hand coming up to wipe his face. “No wonder he talked about the children you would bear him!”

“What?” Harry said. “I thought you would be a better gentleman than to listen - and even _believe_ \- such town gossip, Mr. Tomlinson. I thought you knew me better than that.” Is this why he had been avoiding him all this time? Because he thought he was a fallen carrier?

“Do I?”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “You think I’m the type of carrier to just open my legs to the first man who fancies me? If that was the case I should’ve just accepted Mr. Winston’s proposal-”

“Mr. Winston proposed?” Louis roared. “When?”

Dammit. He forgot he never told anyone besides Charlotte about that. It was too late to take it back at that point. “After the Rowland’s Christmas party! Everyone basically left me, and I was forced to ride back with him and he decided to declare his love for me and propose! And he was so angry that I refused him!”

“So is that why he went to Bath?” Louis gasped. “Why did you not tell me?”

“Why would I?” Harry huffed. “I didn’t like him and never would have thought of accepting. It’s such an embarrassment on my part.”

“Because you fancied Nick before you even met him. Of course you wouldn’t accept a proposal from Mr. Winston when Nick Grimshaw was in your thoughts the entire time.”

“Again with Nick! What is the matter with you? Why must you hate him so?”

“Because besides being a scoundrel and not caring for the least for his family, he should not be treating you in such a way that elicits that type of gossip.”

“How can you blame him for what others say?” Harry yelled. “It’s not his fault!”

“Is it not?” Mr. Tomlinson shouted. “He literally said you taste like the oils he uses for amorous intentions! Which is why Mr. Horan and Mr. Rowland were also surprised at such a confession. He was clearly implying you are lovers!”

What on earth was he talking about? “Oils? What oils?”

“Amorous oils! For- for,” he struggled. “Lubrication!”

“Lubrication for _what_?” Harry asked. Now he was completely lost in the conversation.

“Goodness, Harry, do not play stupid! And you know, we’ve been talking about this and you have yet to deny it, Harry!” he cried out. “And under my own roof! He gave you back your hairpin after you both decided to share a bed in _my home_! He screwed you in my house!”

Harry gasped as he tried to reason why they were talking like this in the first place. “What? Do you hear yourself?”

“I know what I saw!”

“How dare you treat me with such coldness for the past month!” Harry yelled. “Such – disdain! Like you hate me!”

“What?”

“I know that you found it uncomfortable to dance with me that night at the Crowne, but that is no reason to shun me! And to now accuse me of this? Do-do you really not know me, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“I-” he sighed. “You keep things from me, Harry.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?”

If Mr. Tomlinson was going to accuse him of this nonsense, Harry might as well bring up the rumors he’s heard. “You don’t think I’ve – actually, the entire town- hasn’t noticed your affection towards Timothée?”

“Mr. Chalamet?”

Harry nodded.

“Timothée is a lovely man and I’m sure he would be adored by whoever he chooses as his husband but it will certainly not be me. I have no interest in matrimony with Mr. Chalamet and never did.”

“That’s not what the town thinks,” Harry scoffed. “They believe you to almost be engaged.”

“Well I can easily deny that. I have actually! Mr. Corden mentioned it to me a few weeks ago that many thought I had an interest in Mr. Chalamet, and I was able to tell him the thought hadn’t even appeared in my head until he brought it up. So, I denied it. I have no interest in him. And I believe he has no interest in me.”

So he didn’t fancy Timothée! Sarah was wrong, but Harry didn’t seem to find any relief in that. Not when Mr. Tomlinson was looking at him with such anger as they let the silence pass.

“I found it so easy to deny that and yet you haven’t denied your own rumors Harry.”

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. “Of course they’re not true! My goodness, Mr. Tomlinson, how could you believe them so?”

“I don’t- I don’t know what to believe, Harry. You let me kiss you last night without resistance!”

Harry felt himself turn red. “And because of that you think- you think I would just sleep with Mr. Grimshaw. Just open my legs for him because he flatters me?”

Now Louis was inches away from his face again. Their kiss from last night came into his mind again, his eyes fixed on those thin lips. He wanted to lean closer, despite his rage, and feel them against his own again. No one would know. Mr. Tomlinson was accusing him of being easy, and yet something within him just wanted to strip and open himself for Louis, begging him to take him on the stone ground while it thundered. He felt ashamed by it, but also couldn’t help it. And he knew he only felt this way towards Mr. Tomlinson, not Mr. Grimshaw in the slightest.

“Do you think I would just open my legs for anyone?” he taunted, as the lightning clapped above.

“I would like to think not,” Louis whispered.

“Then I wish you would think harder, Mr. Tomlinson.”

And with the clap of thunder above them, Harry found himself pushed against the stone wall while Louis ravaged his lips. Even in his anger, he found it melting away as he felt those wonderful lips on his own again. Because it was a different kind of kiss from the night before. The kiss from last night was almost chaste, so careful in its delivery. But this kiss had more passion in it, more heat, more – no, Harry didn’t want to imagine he could actually feel love coming from the other man. Not when he clearly doesn’t love him back. So would take whatever he could, taking Mr. Tomlinson’s hand and placing it on his waist as they kissed as Harry brought both of his arms around the older man’s neck, bringing him deeper into the kiss. He could feel the other man groan against him, and that stirred the fire he felt deep within him.

This was probably not going to convince Mr. Tomlinson that Harry didn’t give his affections away easily, but he couldn’t care less as he was enveloped in his scent.

“I’m sorry!”

Apologizing again! “Why do you treat me so?” Harry yelled, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “Ever since we danced together at the Crowne, you have been so different with me! Barely sharing a word with me in private, ignoring me, prioritizing someone else over me. If I disgust you so much you could at least tell me! And not kiss me when you think I am allowing Mr. Grimshaw in my bed! You imply I’m a whore-”

“I did not call you that! Harry, I just want you to be careful!”

“Well you are not acting like it!” he cried. “I do not know what I did to deserve this coldness from you, but I am sick of it, Mr. Tomlinson! Sick of it!”

“Harry-”

“And you know what else? You have some nerve to care about whether I’ve slept with a gentleman or not when I know you are _not_ going to your wedding bed a virgin!”

“No am I not,” Mr. Tomlinson answered. Harry knew he had slept with others, but it didn’t do well for his jealousy to have confirmation of it. “But we live in a world that will excuse, or rather expect, me not to be, but hold carriers to a much higher standard.”

“Yet you will never be called a whore.”

“I have not,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to subject yourself to rumors that will ruin your reputation. You go on and on about how you are part of the foremost family in Highbury. No one could be better than you! But you’re willing to lose that standing over someone like Mr. Grimshaw? Think, Harry! Think! Because I cannot bear to see you acting this way!”

“You do not command me, sir!” Harry yelled, tears ready to burst from his eyes again. It pained him so much to fight like this with an old friend, but it was bound to happen after how bad their relationship had been in the past month.

They stayed like that in silence, staring at one another while the rain continued to fall against the stone, thunder still clapping above them. Harry could tell Louis was breathing just as hard, nothing knowing how to reply as his face seemed to be in a permanent scowl.

“You are correct,” Mr. Tomlinson said gravely. “I’m sorry for taking up your time,” and bowed, leaving without another word back into the rain.

Harry could only stare at him as he left, leaning back against the stone and sliding down to the ground, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. He felt awful, like he was going to be sick. Mr. Tomlinson thought the worst of him, the absolute worst. And no matter what he said, it didn’t look like he could change his mind. The gentleman thought he had lain with Mr. Grimshaw, and now Harry was considered spoiled, a no good carrier.

But the thing was, he didn’t care what Highbury thought of him. To hell if they believed such rumors. It was the agony of knowing Mr. Tomlinson did not think the best of him, that he felt like dirt in his eyes. It pained him more than anything. So when Harry burst into tears, he didn’t stop for a very long time.

✺

The next morning, Louis decided he couldn’t stay in Highbury any longer. The journey back from Box Hill had been a long one, since everyone was caught in the rain and the carriers were most put out that their outfits were ruined. After he made sure everyone arrived safely home, including escorting Harry home in silence, he practically raced back to Donwell so he could sleep off all the anger and resentment he had to go through in the day. And once he woke up, he knew what he had to do. He would go to London and stay with his brother and Zayn, staying for however long until he was able to remove Harry from his heart. He knew they would eventually be friends again, but it would take time before he was fully healed from the sorrow.

He decided to visit Hartfield before he left, as to not slight them and make them worry for his sudden departure. He didn’t find Harry there, however, wondering where he could be so early in the morning. Probably on one of his walks.

“Mr. Warwick,” Louis said once he was welcome. “I have just come to say my farewell as I am off to London to visit my brother.”

“London?” the old man gasped, “Why? You never go to London at this time of year!”

“I know,” Louis replied with a sigh, “but I found I have urgent business to discuss with my brother, and I need to be there as soon as possible.”

“I see,” Mr. Warwick nodded as he stood up. “Well I wish you would not leave, but it is not like I can stop you. I wish you a safe journey. Oh! Do take a package for Zayn! One of the servants will hand you on the way out. I forgot to give it to him during Christmas and I don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Of course, sir,” Louis nodded. “I-” He couldn’t finish his train of thought when he saw Harry walking in, his hair in a loose bun once again, looking like a freshly woken angel in his peach colored shawl. The younger man’s eyes went wide once he saw him, clearly surprised to see him. Louis wanted nothing more than to run over to him, hold him in his arms, and kiss his face until he smiled again.

“Harry!” Mr. Warwick said. “Mr. Tomlinson is leaving to London. He has come to say his goodbyes.”

Louis felt a mixture of hope and sorrow as he saw Harry’s eyes go even wider, knowing this was very unexpected. “You’re leaving? So sudden?”

“I have to discuss something with Liam,” he said, not meeting his eyes. “Do you have anything to send or say?”

Harry frowned, shaking his head. “No. I just sent a letter to Zayn a few days ago.”

“Harry has just been to call on Mrs. Teasdale and her niece this very morning, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Mr. Tomlinson shared a glance with the carrier. “You have?”

Harry nodded, meeting his eyes with a faint smile. “The servants were able to cover the food before the storm hit us, so I went to give the rest of the picnic fare to them.”

Louis nodded. “Very well then. I must take my leave from you both.”

“We shall miss you in the evenings, Mr. Tomlinson,” Mr. Warwick said with a sad glance. He was going to miss them terribly as well, more so Harry than anyone, but he knew it was best for everyone to remove himself for their little world. And when he stepped up to stand in front of Harry, looking at him in the same position they had been just yesterday, Louis couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered just by being so close to the carrier he loved.

He stepped toward him and reached out for his hand, simple muscle memory really, but then as Harry easily gave him his hand, Louis froze halfway before bringing it up to his lips. He didn’t need to torture himself with feeling Harry’s bare skin on his lips again. So he simply put the other man’s hand down and stepped backwards. “Good day, Harry,” he whispered.

And then he was gone.

✺

If Harry had known that being in love would hurt so much, he would’ve never let himself fall in love. But that would’ve meant he never would have had Mr. Tomlinson in his life, and that just seemed like a sad life to live. Perhaps it was worth feeling like his heart was made of lead, a heavy weight inside his chest that just begged him to lie down on his bed in sorrow, not caring what else was happening in the world.

Harry knew he must’ve been in love. Because when Nick Grimshaw left Highbury, nothing felt amiss. But now that Mr. Tomlinson was entirely gone, Harry’s world suddenly felt empty. And he couldn’t stay in his room all day, or else his grandfather would worry and send for Doctor Roberts. So he had to get up and dress as usual, trying to act like nothing was amiss, even though everything was. Spending one’s days in despair was not how he envisioned the life he would have once he was actually in love.

Ever since their fight on Box Hill, Harry had been in constant agony. Why must the man he love think so little of him? In an effort to curb his mind away from thinking of everything related to Mr. Tomlinson, from inadvertently asking cook to make his favorite soup for dinner, or looking at everything blue and immediately thinking of his wonderful eyes, he thought he would catch up on his list of books to read, like Louis had told him too on several occasions. He spent one morning outside in the garden, reading one of them when suddenly a gentleman came running up to him.

“Mr. Rowland?” he said, frowning as he put his book down.

“Good morning, Harry,” he breathed out. “I’m sorry for calling on you in such haste, but Sarah wishes to speak to you urgently. Can you come?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Now? About what?”

“Now,” Mr. Rowland nodded. “And as to the subject, I would rather she be the one to break the news to you.”

And that’s when Harry felt his stomach drop to his feet. “Something wrong? With Zayn? Mr. Tomlinson? Mr. Payne? The children? Oh do tell me now!”

“Oh no, no, Harry, do not worry. It has nothing to do with anyone named Tomlinson or Payne. It has to do with-” he glanced at him before shaking his head. “No. I will let Sarah tell you instead. Let me do the honor of escorting you there at least.”

Still feeling uneasy, Harry nodded and quickly had a servant bring out his cloak, trading it for the book and starting the brisk walk to Randalls. All the while Mr. Rowland reassured him that nothing was wrong with any of his family members, but there was still a sense of dread spreading over Harry as he thought of what the news could be to distress the Rowlands so.

“What happened? Is the baby okay?” Harry asked as he rushed into Randall’s. Mrs. Rowland was sitting by the fire, reclined with her hand on her large bump.

“Yes, Harry, I’m fine,” Sarah said, looking weary as he sat back in her chair with a hand over her very large stomach. “Do not worry about myself. But I need to inform you of something.”

“Yes?”

“Oh I do not know how to tell you…” she sighed.

“Tell me quick!” Harry huffed, hating every moment of the suspense.

“Mrs. Grimshaw is dead. She was carried off by a seizure a few days ago, according to Nick’s letter.”

“Dead?” Harry said, frowning. While he knew the Rowlands weren’t overly fond of the woman that kept Nick away, he didn’t think they would have such a dire reaction to her passing. “How sad.”

“We did not know she was that sick,” Mr. Rowland sighed.

“That is not all, Harry,” Sarah swallowed. “With his aunt’s passing, this greatly changes Nick’s circumstances.”

Harry nodded. Now that meant he could marry Charlotte with no interference from his aunt, as sad as her passing was.

“And Nick was just here this morning, on most pressing business. And he… Oh, Harry. He’s engaged. To Timothée Chalamet.”

Harry couldn’t have heard right. “What?”

“They’ve been secretly engaged since October,” Mrs. Rowland explained with her eyes cast down. “They formed an attachment at Weymouth, and have been together ever since. And… Timothée is with child. They are to marry soon for that matter as well. His uncle does not mind, but the child must not be born out of wedlock. They will probably marry within a fortnight. This has hurt me, Harry. I thought I knew him… and this has hurt his brother equally. We cannot tell you the depths of our surprise from this.”

Out of all the things Harry had expected to hear on his way to Randalls, it was not that Mr. Grimshaw was already attached to someone. And that someone was none other than Mr. Chalamet. So not only had Nick been secretly engaged, but he was also sleeping with Timothée as well. While he had been giving public attentions to Harry the entire time. “And he had the audacity to act that way with me when he was engaged?” Harry asked with disgust dripping from his voice, “and in front of Timothée?”

“The engagement had to be a secret,” Sarah rushed. “Mrs. Grimshaw would have disinherited him if she found out, but with her passing and his uncle not so opposed as she would have been, Nick decided that he would come out with the truth and declare his love for him.”

“So had his aunt not died, Timothée would have gone on carrying the baby of a man that treated him so abominably and without a wedding in sight?” Harry asked. Oh how the ways of the universe worked.

“I believe Nick planned to tell his aunt eventually, especially when they knew a baby was coming,” Mrs. Rowland said. “I do not think Nick would have abandoned his duty. But yes, Mrs. Grimshaw’s death did allow them the happiness they had been waiting for for months now.”

“I see,” Harry said, now thinking of how heartbroken Charlotte was going to be once she heard the news. Not only had Mr. Heyer broken her heart, but now she was going to have Mr. Grimshaw break it as well!! Such a matchmaker Harry was when he couldn’t even find true happiness for his beloved friend. “Well, I will need at least half a day to process this information, at least.”

“And you know, Harry,” Sarah said slowly, “that we thought you a perfect match for him. It was our dear wish to see you both together.”

What? Oh. No, not when he knew exactly who owned his heart now, and that man was currently in London. Harry had to calm them on that account. “There was a time when I thought myself attached to him but,” Harry shook his head. “I am not. I have never been in love with Mr. Grimshaw.”

“You were not?” Mrs. Rowland gasped. “Are you sure Harry?”

He nodded. “Do not be angry on my account, Sarah. I will admit I did find him attractive early on, but my heart had never belonged to him.”

“Oh!” she cried. “Oh, Harry. I was so worried for the heartbreak this was going to give you. To hear you say there was no attachment brings me so much joy.”

Harry smiled. “Trust me, Sarah. My heart is safe from him.” Even though Charlotte’s wasn’t. “But Timothée did not deserve to see him give me flirtations while they were engaged! What a horrible man. But I guess that must be overlooked with a child on the way.”

“I know,” Sarah nodded. “I shall write to Nick that you are not put out by his news, simply being ignorant to it because of his lies. He was quite mortified at having to tell you, but could not stay because he had urgent business with his uncle. So the burden was placed on Mr. Rowland and I.”

“What a gentleman,” Harry said flatly.

“Can I call for Mr. Rowland?” she asked. “He was equally worried about your reaction and I’d rather ease his spirits now that there wasn’t the damage we feared you would have.”

“Of course,” he smiled. Mitch had no fault in any of this, besides trusting his brother to be entirely truthful with him on his return to Highbury. No, he would never harbor any resentment towards the Rowlands. And eventually, any resentment he had for Mr. Grimshaw would fade to nothing as well. But as eventful as this news was, it still didn’t distract him enough from thinking of Mr. Tomlinson. Oh. Would he hear the news? Probably not until he returned to Highbury. If only he hadn’t left like he did, and Harry could’ve gone to gossip with him that very night. Nothing was ever going to be the same.

✺

With the news of Mr. Grimshaw still being kept a secret until they set a date for the wedding, Harry thought it best to tell Charlotte the news himself before she heard it from someone else. So when she visited Hartfield as she usually did, Harry pulled her aside to sit by her near one of the windows, telling her he had some news.

“News?” Charlotte asked, head tilted. “About what, Harry?”

With a sigh, he just let it out. “I’m sorry to tell you, Charlotte, but Nick Grimshaw is engaged. To Timothée Chalamet. They are expecting a child.”

“Really?” she gasped with a giggle. “With him? Did they form their attachment back in Weymouth? Oh they must have a wedding soon then! Will it be held in Highbury or back in Yorkshire? Weddings are always a happy occasion!”

Harry was bracing for tears, but frowned when he realized she wasn’t the least bit upset. “I’m glad to see you so pleased for them, Charlotte,” he said slowly, “But you are not upset?”

“Upset?” she scoffed. “Why would I be upset?”

“You- weren’t interested in Mr. Grimshaw?”

“Mr. Grimshaw?” she gasped. “No indeed! He is an acceptable gentleman, but not even close in comparison with the man I am in love with.”

So she was not in love with Nick? “But the great service he rendered you? Rescuing you from the road?”

“Oh not that! I was thinking of a much happier circumstance. From perfect misery to perfect happiness,” she sighed. “Oh, Harry! I did not know how you could misunderstand me so. You, who have known him your entire life.”

No. She could not mean- “Do you mean to tell me… the man you speak of is Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Yes? Did I not make that clear before? At the ball. When Mr. Winston would not dance with me and Mr. Tomlinson came to my rescue. I knew from then on what an exceptional gentleman he was!”

Somehow, Harry felt a deeper dread than when Mr. Rowland came to fetch him a few mornings ago. Charlotte was never in love with Mr. Grimshaw. She had her heart set on Mr. Tomlinson instead! But perhaps it was just a misunderstanding, something she just imagined. “Do you have any idea of Mr. Tomlinson returning those affections?”

“I believe I do,” Charlotte replied. “He has always been so kind to me. He asked me to open the ball with him, he took me aside at Donwell multiple times to explain to me how the tenant farms are run and all its particulars. And on one occasion, before we were interrupted, he seemed on the verge of asking if my affections were engaged.”

Harry’s heart broke completely. On top of not ever getting to be with Mr. Tomlinson, he’d have to watch _Charlotte_ marry him? It was bad enough when it was Timothée, but having to see his good friend marry the love of his life? How could he bear to witness that? And Charlotte had no idea of his own affections towards Mr. Tomlinson, or the kisses they shared, or their fight on Box Hill. No. And she will never know. Because Harry was not about to take out his disappointment on her.

“Well,” he began, “I know Mr. Tomlinson is the last man on earth who would intentionally make any carrier believe of his feeling more for them than he actually does.”

“Oh thank you, Harry!” she cried, quickly hugging him. “I think he shall make me very happy indeed!”

Harry stayed quiet, just hugging her back and trying not to let his tears fall. He had lost Mr. Tomlinson for good, and there was nothing he could do about it.

✺

“Mr. Horan?”

Harry was walking back to Hartfield, lost in his own world as he thought about how much he missed Mr. Tomlinson, when he happened upon a gentleman on the gravel road.

“Hello, Mr. Styles,” he tipped his hat with a smile. “Is Mr. Tomlinson around? I planned to go to Donwell but someone in the village told me he wasn’t there?”

“He’s not,” Harry sighed. “He is in London with our brothers.” And oh, how he missed him terribly.

Mr. Horan frowned. “How strange. Did he say why he left so sudden?”

To get away from me, Harry thought to himself. “No,” he said simply. “He left suddenly without a reason, just saying he had been planning to go for some time.”

“Ah I see,” Mr. Horan nodded. “Well, I am off again for a month or so. Do tell Mr. Tomlinson I tried to see him before I left. Goodbye, Mr. Styles.”

Harry smiled as he nodded. “I shall, Mr. Horan. Safe travels.”

Now Harry felt like going to Donwell, like he usually did when he was upset. He didn’t know why it was that way, but he just felt safe going to those grounds all his life. Probably because they belonged to Mr. Tomlinson, and therefore everything felt safe about it.

Even if it was summer, Harry still felt a chill in the air as he walked to Donwell, glancing over at the lake as it came into view. He went to the grass by it, staring at the calm waters of it before sitting down. And then he just broke down, sobbing as he covered his face with his hands.

How could his life be so bleak now? All because he fell in love? There was no one who could ever replace Mr. Tomlinson in his heart, so he was going to live out the remainder of his days as a wealthy, unmarried character. Never knowing how it felt to have a husband.

“Mr. Styles?” a kind voice came from above, and Harry looked up to see Mrs. Jennings peering down at him. Her cap was on, looking at him with soft eyes through her spectacles.

“Oh, Mrs. Jennings,” he groaned, looking away. He didn’t expect anyone to see him in this state to begin with.

“Can I help you, Mr. Styles?” she asked softly.

“Um-” he sniffed. “No? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone can help.”

She knelt down on the grass beside him. “I’ve known you through our master for a very long time, Mr. Styles. And I know Mr. Tomlinson would not want you looking this way, especially when he can’t be here to help you.”

Oh, how to explain that Mr. Tomlinson was exactly the reason he was in this predicament. “Even if he was here, he wouldn’t be able to help me, Mrs. Jennings. Probably the last person who could, if I’m honest.”

The housekeeper frowned. “What? But you two are such good friends.”

“What happened?”

“I think… I’m in love with Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Oh?”

Harry just nodded, not looking at her.

“Would you like to tell me how you came to this conclusion?”

And well, when you have no one to talk to about your problems, the venting comes out like a tsunami, relentless and wave after wave of relief as the words spilled off his tongue. He told her everything, starting with his initial jealousy against Timothée possibly marrying Mr. Tomlinson to the dance at the Crowne and everything that happened after. Once he was done, he hesitantly looked over to see the old woman’s reaction.

“My, my,” she breathed out. “He kissed you?”

Harry felt himself blushing. “Yes. More than once.”

“Well, It seems you’ve had a lot to think about these past months, Mr. Styles.”

“Harry, please,” he pleaded. He knew he had to keep formalities with servants, but he couldn’t stand it when he’d known Mrs. Jennings for so long, and was basically the only mother figure in Mr. Tomlinson’s life.

“Harry,” she smiled softly, “I don’t know what has happened between you both, but I’m sure it’s nothing that won’t be resolved by having an honest conversation with each other. Tell him your fears, your grievances, and confront him about the way he has treated you – even though it does seem very unlike him – and I’m sure everything will be resolved.”

Harry wanted to hold onto that hope so, so badly. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes, dear,” she chuckled. “I am not his mother, but I have known that man since he was a little boy. I know very well what kind of moods he has, and he has been in very strange ones in this recent month. He usually tells me weeks in advance when he is to go to London, but he left so suddenly. So I am sure he has been just as troubled with your relationship as you have, if not more.”

He highly doubted it, but it wouldn’t hurt to find out.

“But what is the point if I know he is in love with Charlotte?” he sighed. He was already preparing for the years worth of pain he would have to watch them in their married bliss.

“Are you quite sure he is in love with Ms. Clark, my dear? I know she has told you of her affection towards him, but remember that is only from her point of view.”

“Oh I am sure of it,” Harry sniffed. “All the signs point to their mutual affection.”

“Not from what I see,” Mrs. Jennings commented.

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well… I don’t know. Mr. Tomlinson has not really been acting like a man in love these past few months. I imagined when he did find someone he wanted to marry, he would be in much better spirits, almost as if he was floating and not having a care in the world. Not… like he has been.”

It didn’t matter. The point was Louis was in love with someone, and it wasn’t Harry.

“Well, I wish he would not marry. He doesn’t have to love me back! Just stay single forever as I will and we shall both be happy like that. That would be the only arrangement I want.”

“I don’t think that scenario would be fair to either of you, my dear,” Mrs. Jennings smiled, patting his hand. “I think it will work out in the end, though. Have some faith.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jennings,” Harry sniffed.

“Now come along into the house, Harry,” she said as she stood up again, brushing off the stray grass blades on her skirts. “I shall make you a nice cup of tea before you go back to Hartfield, and then you should take a hot bath and go to bed,” she looked up at the sky. “I have a hankering that it will rain tonight.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jennings,” he smiled gratefully once he was on his feet. “I can’t thank you enough for your kindness.”

“Think nothing of it, dear,” she grinned. “Now let’s get inside!”

At least when he left Donwell that evening, he did feel better after having someone to talk to his problems about, even if the problems didn’t go away. He only hoped Mrs. Jennings was right.

✺

“Remind me again for your sudden visit, brother?” Liam said as he looked up from his book. “Because you do not seem to be enjoying it.”

Well if that wasn’t a question. Louis had spent the past two weeks with his brother, playing with his nieces and nephews and doing everything he could to keep Harry out of his mind. But that was hard to accomplish when his mind only wanted to focus on the love of his life. He found everything in Harry, from the books around the house that he remembered were his favorites, to the dinners Zayn served that happened to have Harry’s favorite dishes, to the strawberry shortcakes he saw baking in all the shops he passed on the streets, and it just made his heart ache all the same. He knew Harry was in love with Mr. Grimshaw, so there wasn’t much he could do besides try to forget him. But being around Harry’s own brother, who was very much like him, did little to help. Even though they looked physically different in the face, they still spoke in the same ways that brothers do, and Zayn could easily do facial expressions that made him a relative to Harry. In short, he came to forget Harry and ended up being reminded of him even more.

“I just felt like visiting London,” he said with a shrug, bouncing baby Henry in his arms again as they all sat in the parlor. At least he got to spend time with their children, while trying not to think of any future children Harry and Nick would be having. He still could not get those dreadful words from Box Hill: _I hope they have your eyes_. What a statement to make in front of people. And an insolence to do that to Harry’s reputation.

He could only hope that Mr. Grimshaw would one day prove to be a worthy husband for Harry, as much as it hurt his own heart.

“Sweetheart!” Zayn gasped as he ran into the room.

“What happened?” Liam asked as he sat up.

“I just received a letter from Mrs. Rowland,” Zayn said, waving the piece of paper in his hand. “Nick Grimshaw is engaged!”

Louis’ felt his throat go tight. “Of course!” Now he had to deal with seeing them together for the rest of their lives. That was going to be pure hell.

“What?”

“How could he deserve Harry?” Louis groaned out loud.

“Louis,” Zayn said, “Nick is engaged to Timothée Chalamet.”

He couldn’t have heard right. “He’s what?”

“Did you think he was engaged with Harry?”

Now this was embarrassing. “I thought- oh dear.”

“Something tells me your sudden visit had to do with this,” Mr. Payne said.

Louis sighed. “Fine. I think I’m in love with Harry and I thought he was intended for Nick Grimshaw. Goodness! That bastard played with his heart! Flirting with him, puffing him up when he had no intention of proposing to him!”

“You love Harry?” Zayn asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “I don’t know for how long, but seeing him with Nick made me realize just how deep my love for him was. I never want to see him with anyone but me.”

“You and Harry,” Liam chuckled. “I wonder who could’ve seen that coming.”

Louis really didn’t think Liam’s prediction at Donwell in the winter would actually come true. But now his heart was racing at the thought of Harry still being single. “He is probably heartbroken over this,” he groaned.

“Oh, Louis!” Zayn cried, running over to embrace him. “I knew you would find the perfect carrier to marry, and you have no idea how much joy it brings me to know it is my brother. So you should go back to Highbury tomorrow! Go console Harry and then prove that you are the one who deserves his heart.”

“Tomorrow?” Louis scoffed once he rose from his chair. “I am leaving this instant.”

“Tonight?” Zayn asked. “But it is late!”

“I must return to Highbury and… tell him how I feel.”

“But it is raining!” Liam called out, looking over to the windows. “You’ll ride through the rain?”

“I don’t care,” Louis laughed. “I need to see him!” He asked the servants to pack his bag and have his horse called immediately. But just as he was about to get his coat, he stopped in his tracks. “Oh dear,” Louis said. “He’ll never accept me.”

“Why ever not?”

“Mr. Warwick,” he said slowly. “He would never leave him.” He thought for a moment. “Liam, Zayn, would you ever consider moving back to Highbury?”

“What?” Liam asked.

“I know Harry will only accept moving to Donwell if he knows your grandfather is not alone. If you move back to Hartfield, then he wouldn’t worry about him.”

“Move back home?” Zayn asked hopefully, looking over at his husband.

“We’ll talk about it,” Liam smiled. “And we’ll write to you in a few days.”

“Thank you, both of you,” Louis grinned. Now all was left was to ride back to Highbury, and hope that Harry would return his love, even in fractions.

✺

Harry never lost sleep. Never. Ever since he was a child, he was able to fall fast asleep once he got comfortable in his bed. But ever since that night he danced with Mr. Tomlinson at the Crown Inn, even since the kiss they shared at Donwell, and the kisses that came from Box Hill, his mind has never let him have peace before bed. He would dress for bed as he always did, putting out all the candles in his room to let the darkness overtake him. But as soon as his head laid itself on the pillow, his eyes had no plans to close and his mind simply raced inside him as the rain pounded against his window. He wondered when Mr. Tomlinson would come back, when would his engagement with Charlotte be announced, how long will Harry need to get over Mr. Tomlinson so their marriage wouldn’t be a constant source of hurt for him.

Harry got exactly one hour of sleep before he decided to take a walk, sitting by the dwindling fire in his room before he left. The sun had not yet risen, and it was still pretty dark outside, but he did not care. He needed the air to help clear his head. So he carefully changed out of his shift and put on some trousers and a cotton shirt, taking his pink shawl and wrapping it tightly around himself before pulling on his thicker boots for such muddy walks. And as he walked out the door past some of the servants quarters, he realized the door to Bartholomew’s room was left open. Deciding he needed to close it, he managed to peek inside to make sure nothing was wrong with him, and did a little gasp as he saw who was in bed with him.

“Charles,” he whispered. So they were a couple after all. Even though his own love life was horrible, it warmed his heart to know at least someone did find love at Hartfield, and it seemed to be going very well. He would have to tease them about it later.

Once he reached the gardens, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to bask in the early morning ambience. He heard the early birds chirping in the distance, singing their songs without care. There were owls as well, hooting lowly from their trees. With the light wind that was present, he could hear the way the tall strands of glass swaying in the breeze. Hearing all of that managed to calm him down, so he continued to walk as he wrapped his shawl tighter around himself. He walked and walked until he realized where he was going: Donwell. That wasn’t the ideal place to forget about Mr. Tomlinson, but at least he knew that he wouldn’t be there. Being around his things without him was all the comfort he needed right then.

The lake came over the horizon, glistening in the morning dusk. He remembered seeing Mr. Tomlinson after he took a swim in there, how beautiful he looked in that wet shirt. And that reminded him of another reason he was so well matched with him: not only did he excite his heart and mind in every way, but his body responded to him in ways he never thought possible. Never had Harry thought he would be the type of carrier to ask to be taken right then and there, as he often heard his servants talking about such lust, but seeing Mr. Tomlinson made him realize he was exactly the type of man who could bring that out of him.

How could he have been so blind? How could he have been so stupid? Of course he had always been in love with Mr. Tomlinson! The very thought of him loving Timothée, and now Charlotte, made him so nauseated and wanting to cry. There was no other man in the world who knew him as best he did, was able to banter at his level, or understood him so well. Perhaps Harry should have cornered him after the ball at the Crowne Inn, and made him talk about his feelings. All it ended up doing was leading to their fight at Box Hill, even if it did end up with fervent kisses. Oh how he wish he could go back and change things. But would it even matter if Mr. Tomlinson did not love him back?

With a sigh, Harry continued walking along the grass, knowing it wouldn’t be long until the sun came up. Donwell was now in full view, looking up at it as he walked past it. He had visited the place so many times in his lifetime, and for years it had never had a carrier to run it, but now Charlotte would be that carrier, and she would get to live happily ever after with the man Harry adored.

He walked around the house, admiring its beauty. Eventually he saw the old chestnut tree that stood against the landscaping, a smile going to his lips as he remembered how often he played in that tree with his brother and the Donwell boys. Perhaps one day the Tomlinson children would get to play in that same tree. Oh, and that meant Harry would be asked to be a godparent to any of Mr. Tomlinson’s children, watch him raise children that would not be from Harry, which only made his heart sink further into the pit of his stomach.

At a distance, he saw a figure walking towards him, and his heart started to pound in his ears as he realized who it was.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” he whispered. He had long known what his figure looked like from afar, and there was no mistake that it was him. And as he got closer, Harry noticed that he wasn’t wearing his cravat. Feathers of his chest hair were visible, and it sent a thrill up Harry’s spine.

“Harry!” he called out, staring at him before quickly bowing.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” he said, bowing as well.

Neither said a word.

“What are-”

“What brings-”

They smiled shyly at each other before looking away. Neither seemed willing to speak over the other, so they remained in silence while the birds chirped away in one of the trees.

“I didn’t know you would be here…” Harry trailed off. He was sure Louis could hear how fast his heart was pounding in his chest. “I thought you would still be in London.”

“I came home!” Mr. Tomlinson said, “after… well it doesn’t matter. I didn’t expect to find you at Donwell before sunrise, though,” he said with a small smile. “I have only just arrived home.”

 _At least you’re not almost nude,_ Harry wanted to say. “Oh,” he swallowed. “You must have had a wet ride.” He remembered how stormy it was the night before.

“I did,” Mr. Tomlinson nodded. “But it is no matter. I’m glad to see you, Harry.”

They stood there in silence, observing each other before Harry spoke again. “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to walk here and watch the sunrise. I knew the grounds would be empty since… you were not here. But I can leave if it’s a disturbance-”

“No!” Louis said hurriedly. “You’re more than welcome to stay. In fact, may I join you?”

“You need not ask such questions, Mr. Tomlinson,” he smiled softly. “You’re always welcome to join me.”

They walked side by side, walking towards the strawberry fields where their friendship first started. Oh how things had changed from that initial meeting so long ago.

“Have you heard the news?” Harry began.

“Of Nick and Timothée.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised. “So you heard? That bastard, acting as if he hated Timothée’s entire existence when they were engaged the entire time. I do not understand how Timothée bore it for so long.”

“Time will heal the wound, Harry.”

Harry frowned with a tilt of his head. “Pardon?”

“You will forget him,” he stated. “They will soon remove to Yorkshire and he shall be out of our minds for a long time. I feel sorry for Timothée, if I am being honest.”

“Oh. Well you’re mistaken, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry chuckled, wrapping his shawl around him tighter. “I may regret my actions towards him – and I’ll always be embarrassed by what I have said and done – but… Mr. Grimshaw has not wounded me.”

“He has not taken advantage of you?”

Harry shook his head.

“But you haven’t…?” Louis trailed off. The suggestion was clear in his voice even if he didn’t speak the words.

Harry squinted his eyes. “What?” And then he remembered their fight at Box Hill. “Oh! Goodness, Mr. Tomlinson,” he cried out. “I thought I told you that never happened. I have not been compromised in any way by Mr. Grimshaw, or any man for that matter.” He blushed at having to say that out loud, in front of the man he loved, but at least the only other creatures that would hear are the morning swallows flying above them. “The carrier he was sleeping with was Timothée, who is now with child.”

“With child?” Mr. Tomlinson gasped. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “I heard it from Mrs. Rowland herself. I do not know when the child is due but it is clear that they have been sharing a bed for some time now. That is why their wedding will be within the next few weeks or so,” he paused. “So I hope you are now entirely assured that Mr. Grimshaw never shared my bed.”

“I am glad to hear it, Harry,” Louis swallowed. “For he is a disgrace to man. And he is to be rewarded with that kind carrier? Oh Timothée. Nick will make him miserable. And how his luck favors him! His aunt is in the way of his marriage, she dies. He puts his favor on you, and thankfully you did not return his affections so you are not injured in all of this. He uses everybody ill and everyone is keen to forgive him!”

He spoke with such passion that Harry couldn’t deny why he was so agitated. “You sound as if you envy him, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry sniffled. Most likely because of his affections towards Charlotte. Oh how Louis must be jealous. Jealous that, once again, Nick manages to have everyone’s fancy and has no blame in it.

“And I do envy him, Harry. In one respect I envy him greatly.”

It pained Harry to even think of why.

“Harry, in one respect he is the object of my envy.”

Harry knew he should ask what he meant by it, but he already knew. It would break his heart even more if he had to hear from Mr. Tomlinson himself that he was in love with Charlotte, and that would truly be despicable. To hear from the other man’s lips that he was in love with another carrier. He chose to stay silent instead, staring at the rose bush near them.

“You will not ask me why,” Louis declared. “You are determined to have no curiosity. You are wise not to inquire,” he chuckled with pain. “But I cannot be wise. Harry, I must tell you what you may not ask. I have to tell you. Even though I may wish it unsaid the moment after I say it.”

“Then do not speak it!” Harry cried. “Think about what you are about to say for once you say it it cannot be unsaid!”

Louis nodded, his eyes wide, brimming with tears, and lips parted. He visibly swallowed and walked away towards the chestnut tree, disappearing under the branches.

No. No Harry could not act this way. Not when Mr. Tomlinson had been first and foremost a friend to him all these years, and he couldn’t treat him so. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” Harry began, rushing towards him as he smacked branches away from his face. He finally stood in front of him, looking at his eyes that already shed some tears. It broke Harry’s heart to know that he loved Charlotte that much. But their friendship was more important, no matter what Harry’s heart felt. “I stopped you ungraciously right there and I shouldn’t have. As a friend- I am your friend and I should not treat you so.”

“Harry-”

“And as a friend I will stand here and listen to anything you have to say.”

Louis grimaced as he turned away. “As a friend! Oh Harry-”

“You must let me be your friend!” Harry cried. “At least after this!” Did Louis plan to just cut him out once he was engaged to Charlotte? Oh Harry could not bear that. He could not!

“Friends? Oh. Friends indeed. Tell me, Harry,” Louis begged, walking up to him as he took both of his hands with his own. “Have I no chance of succeeding?” His teary eyes met Harry’s, which only made Harry’s lips part in surprise.

“Wha-”

“My darling Harry,” Mr. Tomlinson whispered. “My dearest Harry. For dearest you are and you will forever be. It’s always been you. You have bewitched me in ways that I do not understand and...” he swallowed as another tear fell down his cheek. “If I loved you less I could probably talk about it more.”

Love. The man before him was talking about _love_.

“I have lectured you,” he continued, squeezing his hands, “and humbled you and you have born it as no other carrier in England could have. God knows I have been an indifferent lover, but you understand my feelings so well. I thought you did when we kissed at Donwell, but I couldn’t be sure when your flirtations with Mr. Grimshaw persisted. I thought… I don’t know. I thought that even if you were having a liaison with him, I would still want you. Still want your heart. I hope he at least didn’t have that.”

Hearing all those words after the torture he had gone through in the past few days was enough to break the dam of feelings Harry had kept inside, and he wept as he listened.

“I went to London to forget you, yet I forgot everything would still remind me of you. Your brother’s demeanor that reminds me of yours, the children and how you act with them, I even went to the theater and every song reminded me of you!”

Harry laughed wetly, not able to take his eyes off him, hanging onto every word coming from that lovely mouth.

“I rode through the rain to come back. I’d ride through storms, walk for years, just to hear you say that you might accept me. That you will accept to be mine,” Mr. Tomlinson swallowed. “So say no if it must be said, but I need to hear your voice, Harry,” he carefully reached up a hand to tenderly cup the carrier’s cheek. “Will you marry me?”

Harry’s eyes went wide as he felt another tear roll down his cheek. All the stress he had felt, all the worry he had gone through, everything was just replaced with feelings of pure bliss as he heard Mr. Tomlinson profess his love. It was almost too good to be real. Yet there he was in front of him, his shirt open, golden skin in full view, his hair a beautiful, rumbled mess, and bright shimmering blue eyes that he wanted to kiss closed.

“Is this a dream?” Harry whispered, relishing the heat of his hand against his face. “Can this be true?”

“You will get nothing but the truth from me,” Mr. Tomlinson whispered back.

Harry wet his lips before speaking, hoping the right words would leave his mouth while his soul was brimming with happiness. “I will marry you, Mr. Tomlinson,” he nodded, smiling through his tears. “With all my heart.”

“You would?” Mr. Tomlinson cried, smiling wide for the first time that day.

“Yes! You are _my_ Mr. Tomlinson now,” Harry replied with a wet laugh, pressing their foreheads together as he closed his eyes. He didn’t know what else to do but bask in the other man’s aura, his scent, his body. He wanted to feel in every way connected to him, to show his feelings instead of telling them.

“I love you, sweet Harry,” Louis whispered. “My Harry.”

Harry felt a warmth on one half of his face and turned to see that the sun was coming up in the distance.

“It’s sunrise,” Harry whispered.

Mr. Tomlinson leaned over and rubbed his nose against Harry’s cheek in response, giving him a kiss there before speaking. “Our first day as an engaged couple,” he murmured. Harry turned back to face him, smiling before bringing their lips together. It was the sweetest kiss he had ever felt, as if he could physically feel the love between them. No more kisses of worry, of wondering what it meant or how the other would react.

And Harry couldn’t help the way his body reacted when Mr. Tomlinson started to tenderly kiss the rest of his face, his lips leaving feathered kisses along his jaw, until Harry felt a moan escape his lips when he kissed one particular spot on his bare neck. But that only made the other man pull back, and Harry started to pout when he felt his absence.

“Can you not continue on?”

Mr. Tomlinson laughed. “No, my love. Because it would lead to things that only married couples should be doing, even if most do so out of wedlock. And certainly not where watchful eyes could be about,” nodding towards the Donwell house. It was then that Harry realized that Mr. Tomlinson’s servants could very well be watching them behind curtains.

“Oh,” Harry whispered with wide eyes.

“So, until our wedding night,” Louis murmured, kissing his hand sweetly.

“Wedding night?” Harry mused with a smirk.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Until then. Now, let me take you home. I shall not have you missing your breakfast.”

Harry nodded with a smile, taking Mr. Tomlinson’s offered arm. “Then I hope you stay so you can eat with Grandpapa and I.”

“I shall,” Mr. Tomlinson smiled, “because I do not think I can go the rest of the day without you.”

They continued on walking back to Hartfield, Harry feeling like he was walking on air. Mr. Tomlinson loves him. That was all his mind could wrap itself around at that moment. He had started out the day worried, crying, feeling disillusioned at the fact he would never be with his love, only to find that his love had been his the entire time. Never someone else’s. Charlotte had been wrong in her thoughts about him. But oh!

“Charlotte!” he gasped, stopping in his tracks.

Louis looked around. “Charlotte? Harry, she’s not here.”

Harry wanted to roll his eyes but decided against it. “Now do not laugh,” he said sternly, “but Charlotte actually took up a fancy on you. She thought that you paid her special attentions and was on the verge of asking if her affections were engaged. And after the way you saved her during the Crowne ball, she became infatuated with you. And told me so not a few days passed.”

“What?” Mr. Tomlinson scoffed. “No, Harry, as agreeable as a carrier she is, I never had that type of affection towards her. I did ask that but not to see if I was the subject of those affections. No, I simply wanted to know if she was still in love with Heyer. After you told me she was feeling uneasy about their relationship at the ball, I thought I could help them be together since I could vouch for Mr. Heyer.”

“So that is why you visited her house to speak with her father? And took notice of her at Donwell so much?”

“Yes?” Louis answered, frowning slightly. “I was only trying to see if she still loved Mr. Heyer enough because after I spoke to him, it seems like there was a misunderstanding. So I took it upon myself to bring them together again. Why else did you think I spent time with her?”

Harry felt heat to his cheeks. “Um-”

Mr. Tomlinson gasped. “You did not think I was in love with her?”

The carrier stayed silent.

“ _Harry_.”

“Well anyone could have thought that!” he huffed. “You even asked her to open the dance with you! At your own ball!”

“Because Mr. Grimshaw had you for the first dance! What was I supposed to do? Ask you to abandon him because I was in love with you?”

“Oh no it was a much better plan to simply kiss me senseless after you barely spoke to me when _we_ danced,” Harry deadpanned.

Mr. Tomlinson chuckled. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry I treated you in that fashion, but I had no idea how attached you were to him while you had my heart, so I thought it best to distance myself until I was over you. But like a moth to a flame, I couldn’t keep away from you. I took whatever you gave me instead.”

“I understand,” Harry sighed. “Even if it did hurt us both. I missed you, as a friend and lover. I don’t know how I would have acted if I thought you were openly sleeping with a carrier and would have possibly married them. Probably would have banned you from Hartfield all together.”

“I know you would be entirely capable of that,” Mr. Tomlinson laughed, reaching over to take his hand in his, threading their fingers together. “So I hope you know now: I was never in love with Timothée Chalamet or Charlotte Clark. You, and only you, have been the owner of my heart for quite some time now. Perhaps I have Mr. Grimshaw to thank for making me realize the unfounded envy I had towards him regarding you.”

Harry smiled, squeezing his hand. “Perhaps you do, but either way, I am glad we are now together. It was better to realize our mutual feelings later than never.”

“And I can wholeheartedly agree with you, my Harry,” Mr. Tomlinson smiled, bringing up their joined hands to his lips, leaving a kiss on the back of Harry’s hand.

“But back to Charlotte!” Harry cried. “Now you see why our engagement would break her heart,” he paused in thought for a moment, brows knotting together. “What if- Oh yes! What if I send a letter to Zayn asking if he will invite Charlotte to London? Then we will not have to tell her yet and hopefully soften the blow when it does come out.”

“And better yet,” Louis smiled, leading them to walk again. “I can have Mr. Heyer be sent to London and call on our brothers’ household. He would be bound to see her there, and hopefully their attraction would rekindle in close quarters away from their families or anyone else.”

“Yes!” Harry grinned. “Oh what a splendid idea. And I’m sure her father would approve this time, when he sees how in love she is and your visits influencing him enough to overrule her mother.” He smiled to himself.

“Why do you smile?”

“Because, Mr. Tomlinson,” he smirked, “you used to condemn my matchmaking for years, and here you are as an active participant!”

Louis threw his head back and laughed heartily. “I am condoning this one time, for the benefit of both of our friends and to put your heart at ease, Harry. I do not plan on spending my days marrying off the rest of Highbury like you have. And I hope you stop after we are married, though I doubt it.”

“Perhaps I will, or I won’t. You will just have to marry me and find out,” Harry grinned, batting his eyelashes at him. Which only made Mr. Tomlinson pull him in by his hand and plant a kiss on his cheek, which then made Harry turn his head and ask for one on his lips, which the gentleman happily gave.

And with that, they walked back to Hartfield together, hand in hand until they knew they would be seen by people, happy that they, at last, were together.

✺

Louis couldn’t remember being so happy. Harry was finally his and planned to be his husband. He had come back to Highbury with so much hope without an ounce of proof that Harry could be his, and finding him walking around Donwell made his heart burst, but to hear him say that he loved him, that he accepted his proposal of marriage, just seemed like a dream that never wanted to wake up from.

Harry Styles was his. And his only. Why should he not rejoice for the rest of his life?

So that’s how he spent the following day, happily going about his work around the abbey. Even Mrs. Reynolds noticed him in a happier mood, commenting on it but not asking him what brought it on. But while he was in his study, looking over his papers and books that he had to give to Mr. Rodgers, he heard footsteps approaching. Frowning, he looked up to see the door open and Harry came running in, tears streaking his face, wrapped in his shawl, his hair slightly disheveled.

“You know I love you,” Harry cried out, “and I always will. But we can never marry!”

Louis was still stunned by the sudden entrance. “Wha-”

“That is all!” and the carrier ran out as quickly as he came in.

Now, growing up with Harry had him used to his outbursts, and such. There were times when he saw Harry throwing a fit over the simplest of things, like Zayn taking a favorite shirt or being told he had to visit someone disagreeable yet important, but it had been many years that he hadn’t witnessed such an event, besides the pouting he did when he didn’t get what he wanted. But claiming that they could not marry after the wonderful day they had yesterday? Impossible.

“Harry!” he called out, running after him. Luckily, he found him just before he could make it to the entrance, almost tripping on those deer legs of his. “Harry,” he grabbed his arm. “Stop!” He turned him around, worried at the pain he saw on his face with the tears.

“I cannot do it to him!” Harry cried. “I cannot marry and leave him!”

Ah, now he understood. “Your grandfather,” Louis sighed. “I know, I know.”

“There is no way we can marry! You cannot abandon Donwell and I cannot leave Hartfield so we cannot marry!”

“Harry-”

“If you want to share my bed in secret I will be accepting of that, and I know I shall never marry – you have my heart you know it – but I cannot stop you from marrying anyone else because you cannot be expected to wait for me because of my grandfather but oh! Give me time to grieve you if you are to marry in the future even though I never planned to share you! What happens-”

“Harry!” Mr. Tomlinson shouted, and that effectively kept the younger man’s mouth shut.

“First,” he soothed, handing him his handkerchief. “Take this along with a deep breath. And I am sorry for raising my voice.”

“Second, you must really not know me, Harry, if you think I would ever marry anyone but you. If, in fact, you could not marry, then I will stay a bachelor till the end of my days. There is no room for anyone else in my heart – or bed, since you think of that – but you.”

Harry sniffed as he dabbed his eyes again.

“Third, I know we have not talked of it, but I have been thinking of your grandfather long before I proposed to you, and I know he cannot be left alone at Hartfield. It would break his heart to do so,” he took a deep breath, “Before I left London, before I proposed to you, I asked my brother and Zayn to consider moving back to Highbury, to live at Hartfield with the children.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “You did what?”

“After we got the news that Mr. Grimshaw and Mr. Chalamet were engaged, I dared to have hope that you might return my feelings after your broken heart. I talked with both of them in haste, and we all knew that you would never want to leave your grandfather. Since he has been saying that he misses Zayn, we thought it would be best if the entire family moves to Hartfield so you may move to Donwell with me. This morning, I received a letter saying that they would be happy to move back to Highbury if you were to leave Hartfield. And they hoped you had accepted my proposal by now.”

“You- You did all that?” Harry whispered. “For me?”

“My darling Harry,” Louis smiled, stepping closer to him. “I only want your happiness, my love. I would do so much more if it were to secure your happiness.”

Harry launched himself at him in response, hugging him tightly as Louis did the same. “I love you,” the carrier whispered. “I love you so much.”

“I love you most, my love,” Mr. Tomlinson whispered into his ear, leaning back to gently kiss him, bringing up a hand to wipe his tears away. “When shall I ask for your hand then?” He knew he would only ask once Harry was ready.

Harry thought for a moment. “Perhaps after Mrs. Rowland gives birth. I would not like him to be worrying about me while he worries over her. He spent all day at Randalls yesterday, keeping her company. That is why it didn’t even occur to me what his reaction would be to our engagement, until I saw him today at breakfast, and he talked about how much he missed Zayn.”

“I see,” Louis nodded. “Well then, we shall have to keep this a secret for a little while longer then. Until the baby is born.”

“Until the baby is born,” Harry repeated, sniffling. “I’m sorry I came in in such a state, but I have no one to talk to about this so you’re the only one I could’ve broken down in front of.”

“Don’t you ever apologize for being yourself in front of me, Harry,” Louis replied. “We have known each other for years, and we were friends before we came to love. I shall always be here for you as a friend, and now lover.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiled weakly. “And the same goes for you. I don’t want you to keep things from me, no matter if you think they will injure me. If you are pained, I want to feel it as well, so we can both soothe it.”

“I think our friendship is a strong base for what we are about to grow as partners, Harry,” Mr. Tomlinson smiled. “I truly look forward to spending my life with you, in this house,” he said as he looked around the corridor they were standing in.

“It shall be a change to move here,” Harry smiled. “But I look forward to it. I don’t think I would ever leave Hartfield were it not the love I have for you.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Louis smiled, bringing him back into an embrace. “So glad to hear that, my love.”

And after Harry was fully recovered, Mr. Tomlinson escorted him back to Hartfield, discussing what type of wedding they would like all the way there.

✺

A few weeks went by, with Mrs. Rowland’s baby due any day. Charlotte did indeed go to London to stay with Mr. Payne and his family, and Harry remembered that she probably arrived back to Highbury yesterday, so she would come to visit soon. And she did that day, calling on Harry while he was doing embroidery in the drawing room, happily standing when she was announced.

“Mr. Styles!” she cried. “Such news!”

“What has happened?” Harry asked, trying not to smile as he hoped for the news.

“Mr. Heyer asked for my hand again – this time going to ask my father after to convince him – and I was allowed to accept! I shall not be cut off when I marry him, despite my mother’s threats,” she laughed. “But I shall be married! Married!”

“Oh Charlotte!” Harry cried, taking both of her hands in his. “I’m so so happy for you!”

“But tell me everything! How it happened and why!” he said as he sat them down on the sofa.

“Well,” Charlotte began, “You know I was invited to stay with the Paynes in London for a fortnight, and oh! I quite enjoyed it, Harry. Your brother and Mr. Payne are so kind, and so loving towards their children. I had fun every day entertaining them with their games and piano playing. That Marianne is going to be ever so fiery when she grows up! But it was such a joy to say with all of them, especially baby Henry. And a few days after I arrived, who should call but Mr. Heyer! He said he was sent by Mr. Tomlinson on some business for his brother, so Mr. Payne being the kind man that he was offered to house him there as well, which Mr. Heyer accepted. So, much to my surprise and delight, we were thrown together for two weeks, always in good company and never thinking of anyone else. I believe being close to him again, being able to talk, made me fall for him again. And what do you know? He said he stopped replying to my letters because he heard a rumor that I was to marry someone else, so he did not want his heart to break further. And he was never going to marry the Fox girls! They were simply family friends, as their father used to work together.”

“I see,” Harry smiled. He knew there was just a misunderstanding. “Go on!”

“Well all that time together was just magical,” she said with a happy sigh. “We talked for hours and went on walks around the square, and during one of them we walked to this beautiful little park that had a pond, and we sat down on one of the benches, and he proposed! In person and not through a letter! And I couldn’t deny him now, not when he was in front of me and I wanted to accept ever so badly. So I did, and I wrote to my father the next day, and he wrote back to say he gives his consent but that Mr. Heyer should still visit him when we get back to Highbury. Of course your brother and his husband were most pleased when we told them the news, and Zayn wanted to write to you to tell you the news but I forbade him!” she smiled. “I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

“Oh and I’m glad that you did!” Harry grinned, giving her a warm hug once she finished. “I wish you all the happiness, my friend.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she smiled. “Without you, I don’t think this would have been possible.”

“My matchmaking skills are useful in all circumstances,” he said, face growing a bit more serious as he realized this would be the perfect time to tell her of his own engagement. It were better that she heard it from him before they announced it. “And I have some news for you as well.”

“Oh? What of?”

“An engagement.”

“Besides Mr. Grimshaw and Mr. Chalamet?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Mr. Tomlinson and I are engaged, Charlotte.”

She gasped. “Really? Oh how wonderful! I know I said I thought of him in a romantic way, but it in no way compared to how I thought about Mr. Heyer. He has always been the owner of my heart and not Mr. Tomlinson.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Charlotte. He proposed not too long ago, and I have felt that I have loved him for some time now.”

“Then I am very very happy for you both, Harry,” she smiled warmly. “I guess there shall be three weddings this year!”

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “Mr. Grimshaw has returned back to Yorkshire to be with his uncle for a time, but I am sure the wedding will be in the next few weeks. Then we shall have our own weddings!”

“Oh, Harry,” she laughed. “Who would have thought we would both be marrying this year? I never thought I would be able to marry Mr. Heyer, and you said yourself that you would never marry!”

“Well,” Harry smiled to himself, “I ended up finding someone that did tempt me, and he was right in front of me the entire time.”

Charlotte continued her visit until supper, joining Mr. Warwick and Harry at the table as she announced her engagement to the old man as well.

“Marriage?” Mr. Warwick gasped, putting down his spoon full of gruel. “Oh but you are so young, Ms. Clark! Why would you want to marry?”

“I am about the same age as Harry, Mr. Warwick,” she laughed. “And I wish to marry the man I love.”

“Well that is no reason to marry,” he huffed. “I do not understand why everyone is affected by this sudden wanderlust of marriage! First Mrs. Rowland who is now expecting, and Mr. Grimshaw and Mr. Chalamet who is also expecting. And now you, Ms. Clark! Oh, Harry,” he turned to him, “do not marry. For your own health.”

Harry’s eyes went wide as he shared a glance with Charlotte, trying not to smile. “Do not worry about my marriage plans, Grandpapa,” he smiled. “How about you tell Ms. Clark what Doctor Roberts told you about the benefits of celery root?”

“Ah yes!” Mr. Warwick began, and quickly forgot everything about marriage. Harry knew it would come as a shock to his grandfather once they told him about the engagement, but he knew deep down the old man would accept the marriage, especially when he heard that Zayn and his family would come to live at Hartfield. They just had to wait until Mrs. Rowland gave birth, and then they would be able to announce their own wonderful news.

✺

A few days later, Harry was sitting in the drawing room, he on the sofa while Mr. Tomlinson was in his usual chair and Mr. Warwick on his own. It was after supper, and they had all come in to read together as they usually did. But Harry could barely read the words on the pages of his own book. He couldn’t focus when Mr. Tomlinson was right in front of him, looking ever so handsome. He always loved the way his hair was styled in those almost curls, how sharp his jaw and cheekbones were. Harry couldn’t believe his luck in spending the rest of his life with that man.

It also didn’t help that he blushed whenever Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes met his over their books, a small smile on his lips every time. Mr. Warwick would fall in and out of sleep, but then suddenly stood up and gasped. “Do you feel a draft, Mr. Tomlinson? About the knees.”

Louis looked up from his book, brows raised. “I cannot say that I do,” he answered, looking over at Harry and noticing the empty seat next to him. “Actually, now I do, sir.”

“I knew it! I knew it! Bartholomew, Charles! Bring the screens!”

The servants rushed around to bring them while Mr. Tomlinson went to sit by Harry, who was trying not to smile as the large screens were put in front of them. Eventually they were completely blocked from Mr. Warwick’s view, content in their little bubble as Harry put down his book and angled himself towards his future husband. Mr. Tomlinson smiled tenderly at him, taking his hand carefully and resting it on his palm.

“How is it now, Mr. Tomlinson?” Mr. Warwick asked, voice muffled behind the screens.

Harry giggled as the man squeezed his hand. “Much better now, Mr. Warwick,” Louis called out. “I feel no drafts whatsoever.”

“Good!” Mr. Warwick replied.

“Do you think he will like our news?” Harry whispered once Louis looked at him again.

“Despite how we know he may not like it at first,” Mr. Tomlinson answered. “I think he will come around to the idea and give his consent. Especially when he knows the possibility of having Zayn’s children come to live with him. You know how he adores those children.”

“Yes,” Harry chuckled. “He was ecstatic every time James came to Donwell with his parents. And happier with each child that Zayn managed to birth.”

“And I think he will be happier when you have our children as well,” Mr. Tomlinson said.

“Our children?” Harry asked, raising a brow and trying not to let it be known how fast his heart sped up at the mention.

“Yes,” the older man smiled. “You do want children, correct?”

“For the right man,” Harry smiled shyly. “Yes. And I know I have accepted the right man.”

“I am glad of it too,” Mr. Tomlinson chuckled. “I can’t imagine you accepting Mr. Winston like you said.”

“Oh,” Harry scrunched his nose. “Do not remind me! He is handsome, yes, but his character… so revolting.”

“If I had known he was going to propose to you that night,” Louis frowned, “I would have never let you be alone with him.”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault really,” Harry shuddered. “Just a ‘blessed moment’ as Mr. Winston put it. I think I am the last carrier in the world who could’ve made him happy, so I know he only wanted to marry me for my money.”

“He really is a dastardly fellow,” Louis sighed. “So much for the vicar to be the pilar of good character for our town. Besides, I am the only one who deserves you,” he smiled, leaning over and placing a sweet kiss on Harry’s lips.

They heard Mr. Warwick snoring, smiling to each other as he did, pulling away.

“I think it’s best I leave,” Mr. Tomlinson said as he squeezed Harry’s thigh. “Once he finds out of our engagement, I wouldn’t want him to think I was taking liberties with you right under his nose, or even in the same room.”

“He will never have to know,” Harry chuckled. “What he doesn’t know cannot hurt him.”

“Perhaps,” Louis smiled, patting a hand on his thigh. “But I shall still leave now.”

“You could meet me in the hot house,” Harry said in an even tone, placing his hand over the gentleman’s. “We can have a head start on those children you promised me.”

Mr. Tomlinson raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to ruin you, Harry Styles?” he whispered in that velvety voice that just gave him goose pimples.

“You already thought me a whore with Mr. Grimshaw,” Harry challenged. “Why can’t I be an actual one for you?” Now, Harry didn’t know much about what he was asking for, but he did know that he wanted to experience it with Mr. Tomlinson. So he watched as Louis’ eyes darkened, sending a thrill up his spine as he felt the older man’s grip grow tighter on his leg.

“Because, my dearest Harry,” Louis whispered, leaning over to kiss him once again. “What I plan to do with you will take much more time than a simple fuck in a study or garden. I plan to have my way with you on our wedding night.”

“You do?” Harry whispered, eyes going wide.

“Yes. Remember when I went to visit my mother’s relatives in Paris?”

Harry nodded. Louis had gone abroad for a month or so back then, and Harry thought he looked all the same when he came back. He particularly liked the lace gloves Mr. Tomlinson had brought back as a gift along with some perfume.

“I learned a lot on those journeys.”

Harry frowned. “Like what?” That he would use in their bedchamber?

“I plan to show you every bit of it,” Mr. Tomlinson said as he kissed him, this time more deeply, bringing up a hand to cup Harry’s cheek as their heads tilted. Harry had long been enjoying the way his head seemed to feel light whenever he felt the other man’s lips on his. “But we can easily wait for our wedding night. I won’t bring you gossip nor ruin before then.”

“Are you sure?” Harry pouted, drawing the other man to chuckle.

“Good evening, my Harry,” he said instead, kissing his beloved’s hand before standing to leave.

✺

“You have guests, Mr. Styles,” Bartholomew said.

“Really?” Harry said. He decided to go around the house and water the plants, finding something to do until it was time for Mr. Tomlinson to visit as usual. So he didn’t remember asking anyone to call before then. “Who?”

“Mr. Grimshaw and Mr. Chalamet. They are waiting in the foyer.”

Now that he did not expect. “Oh,” he said as he put down his watering can. “Send them in.” He smoothed out his outfit as Bartholomew left, taking a quick glance in the mirror to make sure he still looked presentable. The door opened just as he finished, with both of the men walking in side by side.

“Hello, Mr. Grimshaw,” Harry welcomed. “And Mr. Chalamet. Do be seated.”

“I thank you,” Mr. Grimshaw said. “But our visit is short as we are expected back at the Winstons soon.”

“Oh,” Harry said, nodding. Then why bother coming here?

“We thought it best to pay you a personal visit,” Mr. Grimshaw began, “to invite you to our wedding.”

 _Oh_. Harry looked between them, realizing just how in sync they were. They moved together without touching, yet if Timothée moved his right hand, Nick seemed to subconsciously move his left. These signs must have always been there if Harry just tried to pay attention, and he shouldn’t be angry with them for having to keep it a secret since it was out of their control. “Thank you,” Harry said, glancing at both of them. “Though a written invitation would have sufficed. Especially in your condition,” he said with a nod towards Timothée, who seemed to blush at the comment. “You need not have troubled yourselves on my account.”

“We wanted to be here. I-I wanted to apologize for my conduct towards you,” Nick said with a remorseful glance. “I look back and think I acted shamefully, very ungentlemanly like of me. I thought you had an idea of what I kept from you, though, and it did ease the worries on my end.”

Harry wanted to scoff. If he had known the truth, he certainly wouldn’t have acted in such a cavalier manner towards the gentleman. “I had no idea,” he stated. “Not in the slightest.”

“I still must apologize, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Grimshaw said gravely.

Well, since he wasn’t actually in love with him there wasn’t any harm done, but Harry was still miffed at being taken advantage of so. Still, being resentful towards the gentleman wouldn’t solve anything, so he smiled at him instead. “I thank you, then.”

“Good,” Mr. Grimshaw said. “Then we must be off. Thank you for allowing us a chance to see you. I shall wait outside, my love.” He turned to Timothée, nodding and going towards the door.

Harry frowned, wondering why he was being left alone with Timothée of all people. Of course he had no anger towards him, but that did not mean they were in each other’s confidence because of what Mr. Grimshaw had to do.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Chalamet said as he stepped forward, eyes kept low. “I do not have the time to say everything I need to say, but I hope you can accept my apologies as well. You must have found my manner so cold and artificial, and I am so sorry you were subjected to it.”

“You owe me no apologies, Mr. Chalamet,” Harry smiled, stepping towards him as well. “And I am aware that you have an engagement with the Winstons, so I will not keep you from that. But I shall call on you some other day so we can talk, yes?” He offered his hand to take, a sign that he truly bore no ill will towards the other carrier. There was no need to be jealous of him in any aspect anymore.

“I would like that,” Timothée smiled gratefully, taking his hand and gently squeezing it.

And as he left, Harry thought Mr. Tomlinson would be rather proud of him once he knew of the visit. He treated each person with the respect they deserved and ended up making no enemies. The only person who made his skin crawl was Mrs. Winston and her frivolous ways, but now there was no one left in Highbury that Harry could truly detest. And it did make him happy to think that. Now he could focus on his future, like what kind of wedding he wanted to have with Mr. Tomlinson. Or how he was going to tell Grandpapa about their engagement.

Either way, Harry continued working happily around the house as he tended to his plants, happily humming to himself.

✺

And Harry did attempt to find Mr. Chalamet a few days later. Mr. Tomlinson was very pleased when he heard Mr. Grimshaw and his fiancé had called on him, and agreed Harry should pay a call on Timothée to really clear up any misconceptions. So he did on one beautiful morning, walking to Miss Teasdale’s home but finding that Timothée was not in. But Mrs. Winston was, taking tea with Miss Teasdale and her mother. Out of politeness and the older carrier’s insistence, Harry decided to stay and take tea with them as well, thinking of any way he could get out of it.

“What a sly little fellow he is?” Mrs. Winston said as she sipped her tea. “Who would have thought Mr. Chalamet would already be engaged? No wonder he didn’t want me to inquire for those tutoring positions. All that time wasted! He could have simply told me, and I would have understood.”

“I’m afraid it had to be kept a secret, Mrs. Winston,” Miss Teasdale said. “You should have seen the surprise on my face once he told me! All I could say was ‘Timothée!’ nothing else just ‘Timothée!’ and oh what a shock it was! But at least now I know that he will be well taken care of for the rest of his life. We are to visit Enscombe in the winter! And I hear it is such a wonderful and vast estate. Imagine my Timothée running it in just a few more months! Oh such blessings!”

“Yes,” Harry agreed, making sure he was not in agreeance with Mrs. Winston in the slightest. “And we all know why it had to have been kept a secret for all these months. So we can really put no blame on Timothée for having to keep it.”

“Of course!” Miss Teasdale exclaimed. “Isn’t he right, mother? Oh you are too kind, Mr. Styles. Always so kind. Of course we cannot blame poor Timothée in this.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Winston smiled tightly. “I suppose not. Though, I did think you must have been very put out when you heard the news, Mr. Styles.”

Harry tried to keep his face neutral, knowing exactly what she meant. “What ever do you mean, Mrs. Winston? I am very, very happy for Mr. Grimshaw and Mr. Chalamet, and wishing them both a happy marriage.”

“Really?” she smirked with a brow raise, stirring her tea. “I thought Mr. Grimshaw had a… special inclination towards you. If I recall correctly.”

The insolence to say such a thing to his face! Harry fumed silently, taking his time to sip his tea before replying. Mr. Tomlinson should be here to witness how composed he managed to be. “I can assure you, Mrs. Winston,” he said with an easy smile, “that I have never thought of Mr. Grimshaw as more than what he is: a good friend who I am very happy for.”

There was a knock at the front door downstairs, all them turning once they heard it and the servant on the other side bustling behind to answer it.

“Oh that must be my lord and master,” Mrs. Winston said with certainty. “He had some meeting at the Crowne this morning and you know how this town depends on his good opinion on everything!”

“That meeting wasn’t until Wednesday, Mrs. Winston,” Harry replied. Since Mr. Tomlinson managed to spend even more time with him since their engagement, Harry was now privy to his lover’s schedule as well. He spent many evenings listening to him talk about his day, what business he had to do within the parish, what tenants he went to visit. And Harry particularly remembered Mr. Tomlinson telling him that there was going to be a meeting at the Crowne Inn on Wednesday.

“Wednesday? Oh no. I am sure it was today, Mr. Styles,” she sneered. “You are not married to an important gentleman to be privy to such matters. I am sure I heard my _carro esposo_ right when he said the meeting would be today.”

 _But I am engaged to one, who adores me far more than your husband does you, and not to mention you’re only married to your husband because I rejected him,_ Harry thought to himself. But he had his self-restraint and uttered nothing in return, simply nodding and smiling as he sipped his tea.

And that’s when Mr. Winston arrived, looking positively drenched in sweat and looking like he could use a nap, taking his hat off. “Good afternoon,” he said, looking around the room.

“Oh, Mr. Winston!” Miss Teasdale gasped. “You look so tired! Let me fetch you a drink.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, going over to stand by his wife. “I have just been to Donwell after Mr. Tomlinson asked me to call, but when I got there, he was nowhere to be found! I walked almost the entire estate – even finding his steward who said he hadn’t seen him all morning – and never saw him!”

“Really?” Mrs. Winston frowned. “But I thought you were at your meeting at the Crowne today, my love.”

“The Crowne? No that meeting is on Wednesday, dearest. Today I was to call on Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Wednesday?” she repeated, blinking as she tried to process it.

Harry tried to hide his smile behind his teacup as he sipped it. He knew he hadn’t heard Mr. Tomlinson wrong.

“I cannot believe that Mr. Tomlinson would do such a thing, Mr. Winston,” Miss Teasdale said as she brought him a cup of water. “Though I have noticed his manner is very forgetful these days, like his mind is somewhere else – which is not like him!”

“Clearly,” Mrs. Winston huffed, “when he has my poor husband walking around his estate in this unbearable heat! Do you not agree, Mr. Styles?”

Harry had been pretending not to hear, simply raising his brows. “Pardon?”

“About Mr. Tomlinson!” Miss Teasdale pressed. “Do you not find his manner strange these last few weeks?”

Harry wanted to grin like a fool. He loved knowing that Mr. Tomlinson was so distracted by his love for him that it was clear for their friends in town. He would have to tease him about it later that evening when he had the chance. “I have not noticed anything amiss,” Harry relied simply.

So he counted down the minutes until he could see his fiancé later in the day, hoping it wouldn’t be too long. “Well I must be going, Miss Teasdale,” Harry said as he got up. “I shall try to find Timothée on another day. Goodbye Mr. Winston, Mrs. Winston,” he nodded. He couldn’t wait to see Mr. Tomlinson, almost skipping as he walked home.

✺

“Dearly beloved,” Mr. Winston began, “we are gathered here today…”

Harry sighed as he watched the ceremony go on. We hadn’t seen Mr. Tomlinson in three days, and now the man was sitting across the aisle in the other pew, not being able to see him. Louis had arrived right before the doors of the church closed as he sat next to Mr. Horan, having just gotten back from London. Harry didn’t want him to go, but he knew he had business to attend there. Thankfully he made it back on time or else Harry would’ve gone mad if he didn’t see him. Charlotte had been invited to the wedding, but she was currently in London with Peter Heyer, introducing him to her side of the family. He was happy for her, but missed having her around as well. But like any married carrier, that would have to change.

Harry was still the only one secretly engaged, however, and it burned inside him not to be able to announce it yet. But Sarah will enter her internment within the next few days, so then they would be able to tell his grandfather.

He watched as Mr. Winston blessed the couple, kissing at his behest as the audience clapped. Miss Teasdale was crying behind them, along with her mother, but everyone seemed to be in good spirits. And Harry had to admit Mr. Chalamet did look lovely in his white wedding suit.

After the ceremony was over and everyone congregated outside to send the couple off in their carriage, and with his grandfather talking adamantly with Miss Teasdale, Harry walked ahead into the crowd. He was met with Mr. Grimshaw, watching as Timothée was speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Corden.

“Did you truly imagine this ending for us, Mr. Harry?” he asked as he turned to him. “As others close to me have told me?”

Harry looked up at him, trying not to roll his eyes. “No. I did not. Even if others assumed it of us. In fact, by the time you came back to Highbury in the Spring, I knew I was not in love with you.”

“Thank you, for that puts me at ease. That hasn’t stopped my brother from telling me different, though. Saying it was not fair to you. Or Timothée.”

Mitch was the smarter and more thoughtful brother of the pair. “Then treat him well,” Harry replied easily. And be deserving of him. Especially for the sake of your child.”

“I try every day to be that man for him,” and with a nod, he walked over towards his husband.

“Mr. Styles!”

Harry turned to see Mr. Horan approaching with Mr. Tomlinson at his side. His fiancé, well _secret_ fiancé, looked so smart in his riding coat, a deep emerald embellished with gold thread on the sleeves. He longed for the day they would be seen arm in arm in public, but for now, treating him as a friend would have to suffice.

“Mr. Horan,” he said with a nod. “Mr. Tomlinson,” he said easily, meeting his clear blue eyes. “How fortunate that you made it back to Highbury on time. I believe you have made sure to avoid every wedding held here.”

“It is because he does not want to marry himself!” Niall chuckled.

Harry’s eyes widened as Louis raised a brow at him.

“You are correct, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Tomlinson replied. “I have missed many weddings in Highbury, but I shall make sure to be present at the next.”

 _Our own_ , Harry thought to himself as he took a breath.

“Ah yes,” Niall continued. “Mr. Heyer and Charlotte Clark, of course. Love really is in the air in Highbury these days. Soon there will be no bachelors left!”

“Perhaps,” Mr. Tomlinson chuckled.

“Ah,” Mr. Horan said, turning away, “there is Doctor Roberts! I need to discuss something with him. If you will both excuse me.” He bowed and walked away.

Mr. Tomlinson smiled as he walked over to Harry, who desperately wanted to kiss him in greeting right then and there, as they did in private. His blue eyes looked ever so beautiful in the sunlight, and Harry just wanted to plant kisses all over his face.

“You are very kind to host their wedding party at Hartfield,” Mr. Tomlinson said as they walked towards the road together. After Harry couldn’t find the time to visit Timothée so they could talk, Harry decided to write to him and offer Hartfield as the venue for their wedding party, since it was the least he could do in an offering of friendship and for their wedding. Mr. Chalamet wrote him back quickly, eagerly accepting him. So Harry took the time to have the gardens of Hartfield decorated with flowers and tables for a party outdoors in celebration of the wedding.

“Hartfield is much larger than Randalls,” Harry said. “I insisted that we hold it as a wedding gift to them. Soon they will depart to Yorkshire, and we shall not be seeing them as often.”

“I know,” Mr. Tomlinson nodded as they stopped by the road. “I shall be walking there with Mr. Horan once he is done with his conversation.”

“I see,” Harry said as his carriage pulled up and Mr. Tomlinson opened the door for him. “I shall see you there?”

“I hope so,” Mr. Tomlinson smiled, taking his hand, and kissing it. “I shall bring Mr. Warwick so you can go back home now.”

Harry grinned, loving how thoughtful his lover was. “Thank you, darling,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome, my love,” he whispered back, and walked away with a smile on his face.

✺

“I missed you,” Louis said in between kisses, holding Harry up against a wall in the library. Having arrived so close to the ceremony left no time for him to talk with Harry – except that brief encounter with Niall present but that wasn’t possibly enough - so the minute they arrived back at Hartfield he quickly pulled him inside the closest library to do so. Except, any talking was shunned for heated kisses – initiated by that ravishing carrier he happened to be in love with – and Louis couldn’t find himself to be bothered by that.

Harry bit the other man’s lower lip before pulling back. “I missed you more. If I had to be honest, Mr. Tomlinson,” he said as he looped his arms around his neck, “I miss you every second you’re not with me.”

“Is that so?” he asked as he grazed his lips over his nose, placing kisses along the tops of his cheeks. “Then I should marry you to make sure I am never parted from you. Perhaps propose.”

“I’m already engaged sir,” Harry sighed, leaning over to kiss him again. “And I’m not sure my fiancé would enjoy to share me. He’s very jealous, and I can’t blame him for it, for I am a catch.”

Louis chuckled. “Does your fiancé know how spoiled his carrier is?”

“He does,” Harry giggled. “And I’m sure he adores me for it. He loves putting me in my place, and I have a feeling that will reflect in the bedroom.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm,” Harry sighed. “But I can keep you as a lover though. I’m only marrying him for his very large estate, you know. I’m sure I can even keep a room in there for you to visit and fuck me whenever he is not home.”

Mr. Tomlinson growled at that. “I don’t know whether to be mad or excited about that prospect, my love,” he grunted, kissing him again. Harry’s lips felt delicious against his own, so plump and soft.

“Do you think my fiancé will use oils? I have no experience with them, but he was furiously jealous when he thought I was using them with another gentlemen, and-”

Louis cut off his speech by kissing him again, this time with more force so to silence him completely. After weeks of kissing, they had both gotten comfortable with feeling each other through their clothing, with Harry gripping his biceps tightly when Louis found a favorite spot to kiss on his neck or the way Louis pressed at the small of the carrier’s back when he kissed his jawline. But Louis had been firm in making sure that was as far as their kissing would go. Once he felt himself get hard, he would quickly put an end to it, knowing it left the other hot and bothered as well but it was for the best on all accounts. He desperately wanted to wait until their wedding night, but being away from Harry for three days – when they hadn’t spent a day apart since their engagement – was just too much to bear alone. So when he felt himself get hard while they continued to kiss, instead of pulling away and ending it right there, he pressed himself against Harry, feeling how hard he was as well.

Harry gasped at the movement, lips parted as he moaned, rutting against Louis. It had been so long since he felt a carrier in that way, feverish in their need and not caring where it took them. And it was clearly having the same effect on Harry, with more delicious sounds coming from his lips as they moved against one another.

It seemed like Harry was fully content in making them both release in their trousers, which only made Louis remember that they still had a wedding party to attend that Harry was hosting. So with a pained grunt, he eased himself away from Harry, who voiced his displeasure immediately.

“Why did you stop?” he whined, lips pouting. “That felt… heavenly.”

“I know,” Louis said, trying to catch his breath as he looked at the carrier. He looked so lovely against the wall, his updo slightly ruined with curls escaping around his face, the pink silk of his fabric falling beautifully over his chest, his face full of pure bliss. It made him wish their wedding night was to be that night instead, so they wouldn’t have to wait any longer.

“If we didn’t stop,” Mr. Tomlinson said, “both of us would’ve had to walk out there with messes in our pants, and believe me, you don’t want to be out hosting like that.”

“We could’ve gone to my room and changed,” Harry pouted still, “and I could’ve sucked you off to finish,” he said under his breath.

Which made Louis gasp. “Where on earth did you hear that?”

“Do you think Mrs. Rowland hasn’t given me books on what gentlemen can do with carriers?” Harry smirked. “Once they are married, of course, as she always reminded me.”

“So you-” he coughed, still standing away from him so he could cool down, yet the talk only keeping him hard instead, “you want to do that with me?”

“Of course I do,” Harry giggled. “Why not? If it brings us both pleasure, I plan on exploring every way to do that with you. The books had very vivid illustrations.”

Mr. Tomlinson groaned in response. “You really are a tease, Mr. Styles,” he chuckled. “You cannot tell me such things when we are not yet married. Not when all I want is to carry you upstairs and undress you in your bed.” He often thought about how Harry would look naked in his own bed at Donwell, and hearing Harry talk like this was only closer to making those dreams a reality.

“Well,” Harry grinned, walking over to him, no obvious tent in his trousers, “if you thought you were going to be the only one teasing,” he reached down and lightly grasped Louis’ very hard cock over the fabric, eliciting another groan from Louis’ lips, “you are sorely mistaken. And since you do not want my help with this big problem, I hope you find no relief until our wedding night.”

And with a smirk, left Louis standing there even harder than before. Harry was going to be a handful in their marital bed, no doubt, and Louis chuckled to himself as he waited for his “problem” to go down. He couldn’t wait for their marriage.

✺

“Is this not such a happy occasion, Mr. Harry?” Miss Teasdale grinned. “I am so happy for Timothée.”

Harry found himself outside, sipping punch while he watched the guests. Mr. Grimshaw and his new husband were happily situated at one table, guests walking by to offer their congratulations. Harry found himself quite invigorated after his meeting with Mr. Tomlinson in the library, and saw his fiancé emerge a quarter of an hour later. He didn’t know whether he relieved himself or not, but he would try to figure that out later. For now, he needed to avoid him as much as possible, even if he wanted to be at his side the entire time.

“And even Mr. Tomlinson feels it!”

“Feels what?” Harry asked, wanting to know why Miss Teasdale was mentioning his beloved.

“Happiness for Timothée and Nick! Oh you should see the way he is smiling today. I am not saying that Mr. Tomlinson is a serious man. By no means! But I have noticed his demeanor is very happy today, and it can only mean he is excited about the wedding as well. Too joyful!”

“He’s excited about a wedding, alright,” Harry muttered before smiling and nodding. Even though Miss Teasdale was silly beyond all means, it made his chest flutter to think that people could see the joy coming from Mr. Tomlinson, even if they didn’t know the real reason. Not to mention he must’ve been _very_ happy after their session earlier.

“Mr. Styles? May I speak to you for a moment?” he heard a voice behind them, turning to find Timothée approaching them. “Thank you, aunt, but I shall take him now.”

“Oh, goodbye you two!” She called out as Harry walked away with him, wondering what he wanted.

“I have been meaning to talk with you, personally,” Timothée said once they were out of her earshot.

“As have I!” Harry exclaimed. “I know we wanted to talk before this, but we couldn’t find the time.”

They walked until they found an open bench for them to sit, Timothée turning to face him as they continued to talk. “I cannot thank you enough for having our wedding party here. You are entirely too kind after the way I treated you.”

“Oh but-”

“I am so sorry for my conduct,” Timothée persisted. “I know I have apologized before, but I want to say it again. You had shown me nothing but kindness. I should have never acted that way with you, but I had a part to play you see. You must have found me so cold and artificial...”

Oh, Harry couldn’t let the poor carrier feel remorseful on his own wedding day. “Well I don’t blame you! I too would have been enraged if my secret fiancé had acted like that with another carrier.”

“I know,” Timothée said as he looked down at his hands. “But it does not make it any less shameful.”

“You need not beg my forgiveness,” Harry said with a small smile. “Truly. I have long forgiven you both.”

“You are too kind, Harry. I thought you were in love with him, if I am being honest,” Timothée said, trying to smile.

“If we are being frank, Mr. Timothée,” Harry began. “I want you to know that, yes, at one point I thought myself in love with Mr. Grimshaw, but once he returned to Highbury I knew for sure I wasn’t and was never in love with him. Not when I can compare it to-” his eyes widened, not wanting to give away his engagement.

“How you feel about Mr. Tomlinson?” Timothée continued for him.

Harry gasped, not knowing what to say. So he knew?

“Do not think I didn’t see you two emerge from the house earlier. Others might not have noticed slight dishevelments in your clothes, but since I have personal experience on keeping a relationship hidden, I knew what happened.”

Harry sighed. There was no point in hiding it now. “Please do not tell anyone. We are keeping our engagement a secret until Mrs. Rowland gives birth so then we can tell my grandfather. He can’t handle change so quickly, so we’d rather have Sarah out of danger before telling him.”

“I promise I won’t tell,” Timothée smiled truthfully. “Not even my husband.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiled. “Now please, go enjoy your wedding party. You only get one of these in your life, and I would hate for you to spend even a moment of it in remorse of the past.”

“Thank you,” Timothée said. “You really are a kind person, Mr. Styles. And I wish you all the best for you and Mr. Tomlinson. I would say that is a well made match.”

“I would say so too,” Harry giggled, leading him towards the party again. The rest of the day went very smoothly, and Harry couldn’t contain his excitement whenever Mr. Tomlinson came over to speak with him, holding conversations as if nothing were amiss. Harry did catch the eye of Timothée while they spoke though, which made the other carrier smirk before turning away.

So now one couple was finally married, and another was set to be. Now all that was left was for Harry and Mr. Tomlinson to announce their own, and finally have the life they wanted together.

✺

“So when were you going to tell me that you and Mr. Styles were engaged?”

That was not the first sentence that Louis expected to hear first thing in the morning, just as he stepped into his study. Mr. Horan sat there, looking very smug as he stood to greet him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Louis replied easily, deciding to ignore him and hoping he would drop the subject. But there was little chance of that happening, knowing him.

“Oh do not play ignorant with me,” Niall scoffed. “I saw you both! At the wedding party!”

Louis raised a brow at him. “Talking as we usually do? That’s hardly proof of an engagement, Niall.”

“I wish,” Mr. Horan laughed. “I went inside Hartfield to help a servant fetch something, and what do I see happening? Harry leaving the library looking halfway debauched, his lips fuller than usual, and a glassy look in his eyes. That man had been, or was about to be, thoroughly ravaged. And I should know!”

Mr. Tomlinson chuckled in response, trying not to blush at the memory.

“And then, who should I see leaving said library after I passed by it? You! And I know how you are, Louis. You would not be having a mere dalliance with someone you know so well as Harry. No, what I saw must mean that you are about to be engaged, or secretly already are.”

Given how well of an investigation Mr. Horan seemed to lead, Louis couldn’t help but smile. Well, at least he had someone to talk to about Harry. “Fine. I am engaged to be married to Harry Styles, and we are keeping it a secret until Mrs. Rowland’s baby is born, so Mr. Warwick will not be worried.” It really made his heart leap at saying the words aloud.

“I see,” Niall nodded. “But I think congratulations are in order, yes? Am I the first to know?”

“In Highbury,” Mr. Tomlinson grinned. “Yes. For my brother and his husband in London already know of the matter, and that is the extent of the secret.”

Mr. Horan’s jaw dropped. “So you both have really kept this a secret, haven’t you?”

“I say we have,” Louis nodded. “But if I am being honest, I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I have been these past few weeks of engaged life. I think I will be infinitely happier once I am able to tell everyone that yes, Harry Styles has agreed to marry me, and he is mine forever. No one else’s.”

“Now I see why you hated Mr. Grimshaw so much!” Niall cried.

“I did not hate him,” Louis huffed.

“Oh poppycock,” Mr. Horan scoffed. “You act as if I wasn’t there to see you in your foul moods whenever you saw him even near Harry. Wait,” he frowned. “So was he sleeping with Mr. Grimshaw or not?”

“Thank heavens no,” Mr. Tomlinson grimaced, never wanting to think of those painful images again. “Harry assured me he hadn’t, and it is clear now that the carrier Nick had been sleeping with is now his husband, with the child they will be having soon.”

“I see,” Niall nodded. “Well, I wish you both every happiness. I have always hoped to see you married, but I never thought you would end up with Mr. Styles off all people, lovely as he is. It is truly the most pleasant surprise.”

“Thank you, Niall,” he smiled. “Harry shall come to Donwell to live with me while my brother and his family will live at Hartfield with Mr. Warwick, so our marriage shall also bring another family here.”

“Really?” Mr. Horan asked. “I say, we shall truly have a happy winter with everyone here again, save for Mr. Grimshaw and his husband staying for the season.”

“I believe so,” Louis chuckled.

“Well, I am very glad for you both, and wish you joy. I have to say – while it is a surprise – I think you are very well matched for one another, given how well your personalities complement each other.”

Since their engagement wasn’t known yet, Louis couldn’t help feeling his heart swell at hearing a compliment like that. He loved knowing that even if their friends might be surprised at their news, they’ll all see that they are meant for one another. “And I whole heartedly agree with you,” Louis smiled. He couldn’t wait until the rest of the world knew about his happiness.

✺

“Oh, Sarah!” Harry sighed as he held the baby. “She is beautiful!”

Harriet Jane Rowland was born on a beautiful summer morning, just as the sun was coming over the horizon. She had a tuft of brown hair on the top of her head, and round brown eyes that looked at everyone with wonder. Harry visited the Rowlands that very afternoon, accompanied by Mr. Tomlinson, of course. But he was in the other room having a brandy with Mr. Rowland.

“I knew she would be,” Sarah sighed, looking tired but with a wide smile on her face as she looked at her daughter. “I cannot wait to see you with one of your own, Harry.”

Mr. Tomlinson gave a few knocks to the open door, smiling at them both when he walked in. “Mitch is currently writing to his brother with the news,” he explained. “So is this the beautiful girl?”

Harry nodded as the man walked over to him, face so tender as he looked at the little creature, smoothing the hair on her sleeping head.

“I was just telling Harry how wonderful he would look with his own child,” Sarah said, leaning further back on her mountain of pillows as Harry went to give Harriet back to her.

Harry shared a look with Mr. Tomlinson, already seeing the mischief in his eyes. “Should we tell her?”

“Tell me what?”

“We are engaged, Sarah,” Harry grinned, taking Louis’ hand in his.

“Engaged?” she gasped. “Oh! Since when?”

“Since…” Louis thought for a moment, “I returned from my last visit to London.”

“That long?” she cried. “Oh Harry!”

“We were waiting until you gave birth,” Harry laughed. “Then we could tell Grandpapa once he wasn’t worrying about you no longer. Now that Harriet is safely with us, we shall tell him by the end of the week.”

“Oh,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry! But I am so happy for you both. Oh Harry, you shall be married!”

“I will,” Harry grinned, leaning over to kiss Mr. Tomlinson on his cheek. Later Mr. Rowland came in and they shared the news with him as well, and he eagerly wished them well, loving that there would be another wedding in Highbury soon.

“Such a beautiful child,” Harry sighed with a smile as they walked home together later, Mr. Tomlinson beside him. “I am sure she will be very handsome when she grows older, with her mothers eyes and her fathers temperament.” He looked over to see his fiancé’s expression. “Why are you smiling?”

“Can I not smile at thinking what our own children will be like?” Mr. Tomlinson said with a fondness in his voice, stopping in his tracks.

“You think of our children?” Harry asked, heart fluttering at the thought as he stopped as well.

“I do,” Louis smiled. “Often. Which is why I took such offense at Mr. Grimshaw parading on about what your children would look like with him.”

“Oh do not recall it,” Harry shook his head, grimacing. “You know it was all in jest! I only plan on bearing your children, Mr. Tomlinson.”

The gentleman looked down the road, seeing that they were alone. He then leaned over and placed a kiss on the carrier’s lips, Harry closing his eyes in bliss. They hadn’t kissed out of doors before, just keeping their kisses to the closed spaces of Hartfield, so it felt thrilling to simply stand there on an empty road and kiss his love. They were going to tell Mr. Warwick their news, anyways. So the world was going to know soon enough.

“When shall we tell your grandfather then?” Mr. Tomlinson said as he stepped back, offering his arm so they could keep walking.

“Tomorrow,” Harry said firmly. “We shall go home now, tell him Sarah is safe and the baby is healthy, and tomorrow in the evening we shall tell him together.”

“As you wish, my love,” Louis smiled. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“What is that?”

“It would be nice if you call me by my first name, once in a while for now.”

“Like Louis?” Harry gasped. “But… most of our adult lives I’ve called you Mr. Tomlinson. I don’t know you any other way!”

“Can you try,” Louis chuckled. “For me?”

Harry sighed, knowing he couldn’t deny him that. “I promise to try,” he giggled. It would take some time to get used to calling him like that, since he hadn’t since they were children.

“That’s good enough for me, my love,” Louis grinned, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

They walked back to Hartfield, arm in arm, and spent the remainder of the day together just as they always had done, with Mr. Warwick none the wiser on what was brewing between them both.

✺

Mr. Warwick was ecstatic to learn that Mrs. Rowland had had an easy delivery and was already planning to send gifts for the baby girl. Harry gave him a full account the previous day, and the old man was eager to know everything about the new family, and planning to visit them as well when the time came.

“Remember when you were so against Mrs. Rowland marrying, Grandpapa?” Harry chuckled. “And look! Now we have a new addition to Highbury.”

“Ah yes, Harry,” Mr. Warwick nodded. “But it was still a tremendous change for us. She basically raised you and your brother, and to go from her living in this house for years to her living somewhere else was a very sad loss.”

“I understand, Grandpapa,” Harry nodded. He did his best to ease him into the idea of marriage, but he knew he wouldn’t have any success until Mr. Tomlinson came. And he did arrive later that evening, with Harry meeting him at the door before they walked to the drawing room together, Mr. Warwick deep in his book before looking up.

“Mr. Tomlinson!” he grinned. “Thank you for joining us tonight yet again. Your company is most enjoyable.”

“I hope it is, sir,” he answered, going over to his chair to sit down. Harry decided to stand near the chair instead of going to his own seat, hovering before they told Mr. Warwick the news. And once Mr. Tomlinson looked up at him with a nod, Harry cleared his throat.

“Grandpapa?”

“What is it, darling?” Mr. Warwick asked.

“I have some news to share with you.”

“Oh?” He frowned, putting his book down. “What kind of news?”

Harry knew it was better to just say it. “Mr. Tomlinson has done me the great honor of asking for my hand in marriage, Grandpapa. And I have accepted.” And with that, he reached down to grasp Louis’ hand, who squeezed his hand in return.

“What?” He glanced down at their hands. “Mr. Tomlinson? You are going to marry Mr. Tomlinson?”

Louis nodded. “I asked for his hand and he accepted, Mr. Warwick. We plan to marry.”

“Oh, Harry,” he swallowed, eyes wet already. “I don’t like change. But-”

“You will not be alone!” Harry rushed out. “I could not dream of leaving you alone, Grandpapa.”

“I have already spoken with my brother,” Mr. Tomlinson said, “and he and Zayn have agreed – if you so wish – to remove from London and settle back here in Hartfield.”

“They will move back here?” he whispered. “With the children?”

“Well Zayn isn’t going to leave all his children behind,” Harry laughed, the weight lifted off his chest as he saw how animated his grandfather was becoming to the idea. “I shall move to Donwell Abbey, and Zayn and his family shall come live here with you, for there is more than enough room for all of them here.”

“I see,” Grandpapa nodded. “Are you sure this is something you want, my love?”

Harry nodded. “I think I have always loved Mr. Tomlinson in some way, and I want to be with him for the rest of my life, Grandpapa.”

“Well, I could not have parted with you, my dear Harry,” Mr. Warwick said with wet eyes. “But it gives me great joy to know you are marrying someone deserving of you.”

Harry could hardly believe his ears. “So you give your consent?”

“I give my hearty consent,” Mr. Warwick smiled, a tear falling past his cheek. Harry quickly went over to embrace him, kissing his head before the old man stood up to properly hug him. Now the worst was over, and Mr. Warwick barely gave any protest to their wedding plans. Harry would be allowed to live at Donwell, happily by Mr. Tomlinson’s side, while knowing that his grandfather would not be left alone at Hartfield. After embracing Harry for a few moments, he turned and opened an arm for Louis to join, which he happily accepted. Harry never felt more content than being in the arms of two of the men who meant the absolute most to him in his life, besides Zayn of course, and knowing that all their futures lay bright.


	5. Perfect Happiness

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Payne began, “I hope you all join me on toasting to my dear brother, who, a week from today, shall be a married man, and a carrier shall finally run Donwell Abbey.”

It was September, and Louis’ wedding to Harry was on the horizon. After they told Mr. Warwick about their engagement, it didn’t take long for the rest of Highbury to learn of their joyful news. Almost everyone had sent their hearty congratulations, and Louis was content in knowing that everyone approved of their match, saying they were meant for one another. They had spent the rest of the summer planning their wedding, deciding who would be invited, how Hartfield shall be decorated for the occasion, what roles their nieces and nephews will have on the day.

Louis smiled as all the men raised their glasses. Liam and Zayn had arrived the week before in preparation for the wedding and their new stay at Hartfield, bringing along the children and filling the house with their happiness. Mr. Warwick was elated to now have the children living permanently with him, and Louis knew it put Harry at ease to know he was going to be happily cared for while he moved to Donwell Abbey.

Now Liam hosted a gentleman’s party at Donwell for Louis, with almost all the men of Highbury attending the send off for his marriage. Louis initially did not want it, but after much convincing from both Harry and Liam – and Zayn even – he agreed to have such a party thrown for him, even if he much rather would have spent a quiet evening with Harry.

“To Mr. Tomlinson!” the men cheered, clinking their glasses together in unison before they drank their alcohol.

As the men sat around the drawing room, either playing card games or chess or just puffing at their cigars, Louis sat in his usual chair by the fire, content with men coming up to offer their congratulations.

“Did I not say you shall be married?” Mr. Rowland chided, a rare smile on his lips.

“You did,” Louis chuckled. “You did. And I am most happy to be wrong on this occasion.” Even if he thought he was being subtle, even Mrs. Jennings would come up to him and smile knowingly after his engagement was announced. She would tell him he looked absolutely in love, and couldn’t wait for Harry to join their household. So now Louis found himself counting the days until he could bring Harry home, and they could finally live together.

“Congratulations, Mr. Tomlinson,” Mr. Winston said as he walked up to both men. “I’m sure you will find married life fulfilling, just I have.”

And that is when Louis remembered how the vicar had initially proposed to Harry and was rejected. It made him wonder if Mr. Winston would have married his wife so quickly if he had not been rebuffed.

“I think I shall,” Mr. Tomlinson replied easily with a smile. He knew for a fact he bore more love for Harry than whatever type of affection lay between the Winstons. But then again, not everyone had the luck of marrying their soulmate, and Louis was thankful he was one of the few who could.

✺

The wedding day arrived on a beautiful September day. The end of summer was near, with the cooler air coming in the mornings. Harry woke up as usual, but still remembering it would be his last day living at Hartfield. He had spent the days before packing his things with Zayn, deciding which of his things he would like to bring into Donwell. It was reminiscent of the time they spent packing Zayn’s things when he married Liam, with both of them laughing and crying as they packed. He knew he was going to miss living at Hartfield, but he couldn’t deny the excitement he felt at living at Donwell. He was already used to running his own house, but he had a feeling it would feel different now that he was married. He would be running a home fit for his husband, and their children they would have in the future. It seemed surreal that every day after his wedding would be spent at Donwell, his new home. With Mr. Tomlinson.

After washing his face near the looking glass, he took a final glance at the sunrise from his window, admiring the view of the lands. After today, he would no longer be Harry Styles of Hartfield. No, now he would be a Tomlinson, of Donwell. And he couldn’t wait to watch the sunrises with his husband.

Once his servants came in, he finally started getting ready for the wedding. A white lace suit was ordered for him, specially made to his measurements and customary for carriers to wear at their weddings. He had gotten it made more than a month ago, and he cried when he first tried it on when it was finished. And now looking at himself in the mirror, all dressed and ready to go to the church, he tried extremely hard not to cry.

But he couldn’t help letting a tear fall once Mr. Warwick took him down the aisle, handing him off to Mr. Tomlinson, who stood there in a gorgeous blue suit, looking so handsome with wet eyes.

Everyone they knew was in attendance, except for Mr. Grimshaw and Timothée, who was put on bed rest by their physician at Enscombe and would not be allowed on any carriage rides until after the baby was born. They still sent their best wishes along with a gift, and Harry was more than pleased with that. Charlotte sat beside Mr. Heyer in the pew, happily holding hands as they were to marry the following month, much to her mother’s disapproval but to her father’s elation. Mr. Heyer was almost done building a new wing of his farmhouse, and Charlotte was already thinking of how to furnish it. Harry was simply happy to see his friend so well matched, and secretly proud that he had a hand in their engagement, along with Mr. Tomlinson.

Miss Teasdale and her mother were also in attendance, happily wiping away tears as Harry went down the aisle. She had been extremely excited once she heard the news of their engagement, saying they were definitely meant for one another and no one else, to which Mr. Tomlinson happily agreed. And given such praise, Harry could bear her endless rambling.

Mrs. Winston was obviously in the audience, her face a mixture of boredom and snide. He had heard from Charlotte that the vicar’s wife was already making rude remarks about their marriage, saying it was quite unorthodox for the Paynes to move in with Mr. Warwick. And yet, she most likely never had anyone who loved her as much as Harry’s family loved each other, so he could only feel sorry for her. She was probably thinking to herself that there was a lack of lace or silk, the decorations not up to her taste.

Mr. and Mrs. Rowland were in attendance as well, sitting in the second row with baby Harriet in her arms, ever so well behaved as she sat there happily mumbling to herself while her father played with her at times. Sarah had been most ecstatic about their engagement, saying it was everything she hoped to see Harry do one day: starting a family. And she soon hoped Harriet would have a Tomlinson child as a playmate, which made Harry blush.

Zayn and Liam sat next to Mr. Warwick in the front row, with Liam dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. Harry should’ve known he would be the first to get emotional out of everyone. He had been crying since the morning, even before they boarded their carriages for the church.

But Mr. Winston was standing in front of Harry and Mr. Tomlinson, ready to marry them. Harry wanted to laugh at the irony of a man who proposed to him now has to marry him to another man, but he put his mind to something else. Like how he was moments away from becoming a Tomlinson.

Mr. Winston began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

But Harry could not hear it. He felt Louis’ hand brush up against his own, caressing the backs of their hands until their fingers intertwined, linking them forever. He felt the ring Louis wore tight against his own fingers, feeling like a piece of Louis’ family was there as well, besides Liam. More words were said, more verses sung, and finally rings were brought out.

“Repeat after me, Mr. Tomlinson,” Mr. Winston said, holding out his book as he looked down at them both. “I, Louis Tomlinson, take thee Harry…” and a ring was slipped on Harry’s finger. The same was done to Louis, and before long, they heard Mr. Winston declare “I now pronounce you, husband and husband. You may kiss your carrier, Mr. Tomlinson.”

And Louis did not have to be told twice. He stepped forward, placing a chaste kiss on Harry’s lips as the crowd cheered. But yet again, Harry could not hear it. For he was about to start his life with the man he loved, and nothing else could matter at that moment.

✺

He was married. Mr. Tomlinson was officially married. He could hardly believe seeing his wedding band on his finger, next to his father’s garnet ring. While Harry was off speaking with some guests near the food tents, Louis patiently waited for his return, deciding to admire his ring as he did.

They had the wedding party at Hartfield as expected. Tents were built up to shelter the food so people could eat, and everyone there seemed to be having a good time. But even it didn’t matter if the entirety of Highbury came out to celebrate their marriage, Louis was just ecstatic to know Harry was his already, his carrier.

“May I join you?”

Louis looked up to see Mr. Warwick standing by his table, leaning on his cane as he looked down at him.

“Of course, sir!” Louis smiled, rushing to stand up and offer him a chair.

“Thank you, my boy,” the old man chuckled, taking a seat. They both turned towards a noise, realizing that Harry was carrying a happy baby Harriet as her parents looked on.

“I always knew I would see him married,” Mr. Warwick said suddenly. “I never knew to who, but I knew it would be someone worth his while. And I’m very glad to know it turned out to be you, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis knew it was going to be hard for Mr. Warwick to get used to Harry not living at Hartfield anymore, even if Zayn and his family had already moved in, so to hear reassurances from him made him emotional.

“I thank you with my whole heart, Mr. Warwick,” he swallowed.

“Harry reminds me so much of his mother,” he sighed. “He has her eyes, her smile. Zayn got her cheekbones, but Harry got most of her looks. And both of them have her spirit. You know she also told me she would never marry?” he chuckled, wiping his eye. “She said she would never leave me, and she didn’t. Both of her husbands lived at Hartfield when they were married to her, both of them knowing she would never agree to live anywhere else. I’m so, so glad that she found two men to love her in her time, and out of that came my grandchildren,” he sniffed. “I just wish she could have been here to see how they turned out. All happy with their own families now, with Harry just starting his.”

Louis often felt that ache, knowing he was going through life without his father or mother’s guidance. It had not really been a topic he talked with Harry often, but now that they were married, he planned to broach the subject at the right moment. Probably in the coming months. For now, he just wanted to enjoy the blessings they had at present with those still around.

“I’m sure she would have been,” Louis said softly. “And even if she was not around to raise them, I know she would be so proud to see how her children grew to be.”

“As would your parents,” Mr. Warwick offered, “I would have loved to see your father here today as well, and your mother.”

“I would have loved that too,” Louis replied, smiling down at the ring on his hand. At least the children he would have with Harry would carry on their legacy. He looked over to see his husband conversing with another couple now, but somehow knowing that Louis was watching him, looking over and giving him a soft smile before carrying on his conversation.

“Take care of him,” Mr. Warwick said as they both watched Harry. “I have to say that, even though I know you will. You’ve always been the perfect gentleman for him, whether any of us knew it or not.”

Hearing words like that on his wedding day was enough to make him cry, but Louis had already cried enough in church on such a special day, so he just laughed wetly as he blinked back the tears in his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Warwick,” Louis said softly. “You have no idea how happy it makes us both to have your blessing, especially when he is to leave Hartfield.”

“It will be hard not having him live here,” Mr. Warwick sniffed, discreetly wiping a tear, “but he deserves to go make a life of his own somewhere else. Besides, if it were not for your marriage, Zayn would have never moved back into Hartfield with his lovely family, and now I will be surrounded by children again! How can I not find the joy in that?”

“I guess so,” Louis chuckled. As long as everyone from Hartfield and Donwell Abbey was happy with the changes their marriage would bring, Louis was more than content. Now all that was left was to start a family with his Harry, and bring even more joy to everyone.

✺

The carriage stopped, Harry looking out the window.

“We’re here, my love” Mr. Tomlinson murmured, squeezing Harry’s hand in his own.

After the wedding dinner, it was time for Harry to go to his new home at Donwell. The evening was spent with laughter and tears as he hugged his grandfather goodbye, knowing they would still see each other every day even if he lived a mile away. He also shared a tender hug with Zayn, who was more than ecstatic to be back at Hartfield and told him he knew Donwell was going to be the perfect home for him. So once all the goodbyes were said, including the Rowlands, the Cordens, the Teasdales, and everyone else, Harry was guided to Mr. Tomlinson’s carriage and they were off. Harry still dabbed his handkerchief at his eyes for the remainder of the journey, smiling when his husband – oh, Mr. Tomlinson was his husband now – allowed him to cuddle in his arms for some comfort.

Now they had arrived at Donwell Abbey, the night already setting in as the candles lit the building. A few servants were lined outside to greet them, with Harry knowing that he was going to meet the full staff in the morning. Mrs. Jennings was first in line as Mr. Tomlinson helped him out of the carriage, beaming as Harry went over to hug her in greeting.

“Did I not say this would happen?” she whispered.

Harry pulled back with wet eyes, grinning. “Yes, you did, ma’am. Thank you.”

“We welcome you to Donwell Abbey, Mr. Harry,” she declared, looking over at her staff. “I’m sure you’re already familiar with most of the staff, so no need for new introductions.”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, preening when he felt Mr. Tomlinson come up behind him and put a hand on the small of his back.

“Thank you for such a warm welcome for my husband, Mrs. Jennings,” he smiled. “Since we have already eaten dinner, I think we shall retire to our rooms for the rest of the night.”

“Oh yes, sir,” she smiled, leading the way into the house. “We have already prepared the rooms for you both. I shall tell the servants not to disturb you both until noon tomorrow, is that alright?”

Harry looked over at Louis as he handed his cloak to one of the waiting servants, smiling at him as he did so. Though the staff was already familiar with him, he wanted to make sure they knew he would not turn into one of those cruel employers.

“That would be perfect, Mrs. Jennings,” Mr. Tomlinson said, “Thank you. We shall see you in the morning.”

She nodded and walked away, with Louis asking for Harry’s hand to lead him upstairs. Even though Harry had been at Donwell many times in his life, it felt drastically different now as he walked through the hallways with his husband. He never imagined he would one day be married to Mr. Tomlinson, much less be the carrier of Donwell Abbey. The paintings that lined the walls, the sculptures, the furniture, everything was now under his care as well.

“These are your rooms,” Mr. Tomlinson said as they walked into the East Wing of the upstairs rooms. “These are meant for the carrier of the house, so my mother and stepmother lived here at some point.”

Harry stepped inside and gasped. The walls were lined in a blush pink wallpaper, with green and yellow flowers painted along the entirety. Burgundy curtains lined the three large windows of the room, candles emitting a warm glow around the walls. It looked very comforting to say the least. And a large bouquet filled with Harry’s favorite flowers sat on top of his dressing room.

“Beautiful,” Harry whispered, going over to Mr. Tomlinson, and kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You do have these rooms for your own use,” Louis explained. “And you’re free to stay here as long as you need. But…”

“But?”

“I would love it if you stayed in my -our- room now. As a married couple,” he smiled shyly, “like I want us to be. And you can use these rooms when you need them for other things, but I would like my bed to be the one you rest your head on every night in our marriage.”

“I want that,” Harry replied, knowing he wouldn’t want it any other way. “I want to live that way with you, my love.”

“As you wish,” Louis smiled fondly. “I would give you a tour of the house, but you have been many times to Donwell already, and I would rather give you a tour of our room.” He took his hand and walked across the hall, carefully opening his own door.

His room was much bigger than the one for carriers, with four windows along the walls.

“I love it,” Harry whispered.

“I’m glad,” Mr. Tomlinson smiled. “Now stay here. I need to bring you something.”

Harry decided to look around the room, familiarizing himself with the furniture. Massive columns lined the room, going from the ceiling to the floor. A fire burned in one corner of the room, making the environment warm and inviting. The bed was massive, with plenty of room to do whatever they wanted on it. Which made him remember what was happening that night, on that very spot. He swallowed, suddenly realizing how unprepared he was, even if he had read the books Mrs. Rowland had given him all those years ago. But surely Louis knew that and would take that into account as the night went along. Harry was sure of it.

He decided to walk around the room more, smiling at the beautiful furnishings adorning it. Everything was kept neat and orderly, probably due to the servants keeping things like that, since he remembered Louis was never one to clean up after himself.

Suddenly the door opened, and Louis stepped inside, closing it behind him. A medium sized box was in his hand. He walked up to Harry, slightly blushing as he carefully opened it.

“Consider this one of the many wedding presents I plan to give you,” Mr. Tomlinson murmured, and Harry’s jaw dropped when he looked at it. It was a stranded pearl necklace, with two strands. One longer one that would look nicely over his chest, and the other shorter one fitting around his neck.

Harry gasped. “Oh, Mr. Tomlinson,” he whispered, touching it delicately with one finger.

“I want you to wear this tonight. And nothing else.”

“Nothing else?” Harry whispered, eyes going wide. The sudden realization that Louis was going to see him naked, _bare_. Oh.

Louis leaned over and kissed him, nodding as he pulled back. “Yes. Shall I call for a maid to undress you?”

Harry giggled as he blushed. “Well, you could. But I would much rather have my new husband undress me on our wedding night.” And with that, Harry wasted no time in getting himself out of his wedding suit. The pants and shirt were simple enough to get off, but he had to turn around for his husband to undo the ties of his corset, trying not to shiver in the chill air, despite the fire burning.

“Can you untie my stays?” Harry murmured, shyly. He didn’t really know if Louis wanted or knew how to do it.

“I can,” his husband said easily, stepping up to do so. “What a beautiful thing this is. You are.”

Harry was about to tell him how exactly to do it, but he realized Louis’ skilled hands already took out the first three rows. In fact, it seemed like his husband was no stranger to taking off corsets, and that brought a frown to Harry’s face, already thinking of all the lovers he had before him. “You seem to know your way around it, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry remarked with a hint of jealousy in his voice.

“And that bothers you?” his husband asked, no mirth in his voice.

“Perhaps,” Harry huffed. “I didn’t know you basically undressed half of France when you were visiting!”

He could hear Louis chuckling behind him as he undid the reminder of the laces. “Do I detect my new husband being jealous?”

Harry stayed silent, pouting.

“Well, yes. I have done this before, and not just with French carriers,” Mr. Tomlinson admitted, using the remaining ribbon still attached to Harry to bring him closer, enough for him to have his mouth against Harry’s ear, “but never with someone who has my heart. Never someone who I knew would be the last and the only I’d ever do this too.”

Harry’s heart beat faster as he heard the words, closing his eyes to take them in. Would it feel different for Mr. Tomlinson than he had felt in his previous dalliances?

“Do you mean that?” he whispered, still not facing him.

“Ever word, dear Harry,” Louis answered, taking off the corset and throwing it into the pile with the rest of the discarded clothes. Now Harry was just standing there in his shift, which now reached below his knees and showed off his bare shoulders in the fire light.

Well, there was no point in being jealous really. As long as Harry knew Mr. Tomlinson’s body and soul were his now, that was all that mattered. He absentmindedly started to reach for his hair, pulling out a pin before he felt a hand on his wrist.

“No, love,” Louis whispered. “I’ve-I’ve waited so long for this. To see you like this. To hold you. You’re mine tonight, so let me take care of you.” He pulled at each pin carefully, Harry feeling all the curls that came tumbling down his shoulders with every pin that pulled. Eventually all of them were out, and his auburn curls were on full display against the whiteness of his shift.

“Turn around, love,” Louis asked softly, and Harry obeyed. “Oh, Harry,” he mumbled. “I haven’t seen your hair down since we were young.” He reached out to almost touch a curl. “May I?”

Harry nodded, blushing as he looked down to see the other man’s fingers caress a curl delicately, taking a few of them within his palm. “Do you like it?”

“Like?” he scoffed, laughter in his eyes mixed with wonder. “I love seeing you like this. None of the clothes that you wear every day, none of the fabrics that cover you. No, just you standing before me like this is enough. I love it. My beautiful Harry. Maybe because I’m the only one who will see you like this.”

“That’s all I want,” Harry answered softly.

“You truly are the most beautiful creature, my love,” Mr. Tomlinson whispered, leaning over to kiss him again. This time the kiss lingered, growing more heated as their lips pressed longer together, until Harry felt Louis’ tongue make his way into his mouth, and suddenly Harry felt his body respond just as it did when they kissed before. His heart pounded in his chest, skin prickling in anticipation, but now there wasn’t the thick barrier of clothing like before. Now there was only Harry’s shift between his bare skin and Louis – who was still fully dressed – and the roughness of his husband’s wedding clothes felt splendid against him. But, oh. Harry knew it would feel much better once he got to see Louis bare.

“Why are you not undressed?” Harry whined against his lips, a hand already on the other man’s vest to push it off his shoulder.

“I know,” Mr. Tomlinson panted with a grunt. “Will you help me as well, dear husband?”

Harry nodded, carefully untying the cravat against his neck while Louis unbuttoned his vest. Soon all his clothing was in a pile on the floor, leaving Mr. Tomlinson standing there in a thin shirt that left nothing to the imagination underneath, the fabric ending just at the middle of his shapely, golden thighs. Soon he would see all his nakedness, all of him. So now what?

Louis seemed to hear the question in his head, asking for his hand. “Come here, love, let me put this necklace on you.”

Nodding, Harry turned around again, pushing his hair to one side as so his husband could easily put it on him. Once he felt the strands of pearls falling over his chest, he quickly walked over to the full length mirror near one of the columns, gasping softly as he watched himself touch them. Standing there, only in his night shift, his décolletage gleaming in the candlelight with the beautiful pearls against him. His heart beat started to quicken even more once he saw a hand gently curl around his waist, the feeling of someone warm behind him.

“Did I not say you look beautiful, my love?” Louis whispered, kissing his cheek before murmuring against his ear.

Harry nodded, meeting his blue eyes in the mirror.

“And you’re all mine,” Louis continued, smiling into the kiss he gave his neck, sending a shudder down Harry’s spine. “Let us sit on the bed, love.”

Harry nodded, walking over with him until he eased himself onto the edge from the rear, while Louis went to sit.

“I knew you would be beautiful, Harry,” Louis said, “but I didn’t know you would look this pretty in the firelight, on my bed.”

“And you’re the only one who thought I was in another man’s bed,” Harry huffed with a smile, still feeling shy at being so scrutinized. “I didn’t even like Mr. Grimshaw enough to be bold enough to let him do that.”

“Oh don’t remind me,” Louis groaned, flopping down over the bed, arms flayed out as he closed his eyes. “I tortured myself for weeks thinking the only carrier I ever came to love was sharing a bed with someone else.”

“But I wasn’t,” Harry smiled, crawling over to lay down next to him, “just thinking of you the entire time.”

Louis opened one eye, head turning against the bedspread to look at Harry. “If you were compromised, I still would have married you, love,” he said softly. “I never thought less of you if you did that… just my own jealousies coming into play.”

Leave it to Mr. Tomlinson to still be a noble gentleman on their wedding night. “How thoughtful,” Harry giggled, tapping the other man’s nose playfully. “Because I know you have not come as a blushing virgin to our wedding bed as I have.”

“No I haven’t,” Louis grinned, leaning up to rest his head on his bent arm. “And you’re going to revel in the benefits of that.”

“Oh really?” Harry laughed, puckering his lips as he leaned over, silently asking for a kiss. As much as he liked knowing how illustrious Mr. Tomlinson’s bed history was, he still wanted reminders of just how much he wanted Harry, and only Harry, now. And his husband happily obliged, leaning over to meet his mouth, his tongue plunging in and setting his body ablaze, needy for something he did not understand but fully wanted to find out.

“How would you like to start, love?” Louis whispered against his lips.

Harry pulled back, swallowing as he looked into those kind eyes he had grown to love. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I- I don’t know. Must I be completely naked?”

“Well,” Louis chuckled, “I would like to see you bare. We are married now, Harry, so we cannot be strangers to one another. Though there are several ways to make love with your clothing still on, but I respectfully ask for us to not have such barriers tonight,” he replied with a shy smile.

“It’s not like I don’t want you to see… me. Just… no one ever has. This all feels so strange,” Harry admitted. It was one thing to dream of Louis fucking him senseless, it was another to actually lay there in anticipation before he did.

“I understand, love. We’ll take things at your pace, okay? How about… I lay here,” Louis suggested. “And you just touch me.”

“Touch you?” Harry squeaked. Oh, he wasn’t expecting this.

Louis nodded, taking off his shirt. “I’ll fully undress you once you feel comfortable. But while we wait for that-”

Harry gasped as he saw a naked man for the first time, leaning back against the mountain of pillows near the headboard, one arm brought up behind Louis’ head. Harry obviously knew from his own anatomy what he could expect, but seeing the person that he loved laying out on the bed? Too much to bear. Louis’ eyes looked so soft as he gazed at him, with his golden skin glowing in the candlelight. His chest was firm, with dark hair growing in the center, and nipples that topped them. His stomach was firm, no doubt shaped by the work he helped with his tenants every now and then. And Harry’s eyes traveled lower, jaw dropping as he saw his cock for the first time, nestled in the middle of the dark curls between his legs. It was thick, with veins along

With a delicate hand, Harry began to lightly graze his fingers over the other man’s chest, admiring the way his skin felt against his own. And as he got closer to his crotch, he noticed his cock twitching, eyes widening as he realized what was happening.

“Oh,” Harry whispered. “It’s growing.”

“As it’s supposed to,” Louis chuckled. “Touch me, if you like.”

With a gulp but determined frown, Harry obeyed, carefully grazing his fingers over it before taking it in his hand, gasping as he felt the heavy heat of it. “This is supposed to go in me?” he whispered with wide eyes.

“Yes,” Louis smirked.

Harry started to move his hand over him, watching as Mr. Tomlinson’s mouth dropped, face wrought with what seemed to be pleasure, groaning as he focused on the way Harry’s hand was moving. And Harry was relishing the feeling of knowing _he_ was the one bringing out those sounds from him. “I love this,” Harry murmured, running his finger over the head, eliciting a hiss from the man. “I’m sorry! Did that hurt?” He didn’t know if he was applying too much pressure, like when he did with his own.

Louis let out another groan. “No, my love. Quite the opposite. I’ve dreamed of having you in my bed and now that you are it’s almost overwhelming in pleasure, and we haven’t even made love yet.”

“Oh,” Harry blushed, still eyeing the awfully hard cock in front of him, hand going to grasp it again. He remembered reading about how one could pleasure a man with one’s mouth, and Harry’s own mouth started to water in want at the thought of doing that. “Can I taste?”

“Yes,” Louis breathed out, nodding quickly.

And Harry thought about backing out momentarily, just out of pure nerves from having no experience, but then he saw Louis’ thick cock standing to attention so deliciously in his hand, and his head just sank down with the urgent need to just… have it in his mouth. Wanting to know how he tasted on his tongue. He hesitated before touching it with his lips, but Louis’ face gave him all the encouragement he needed, eyes wide and lips parted. He thought about what the dirty book said, and leaned over, licking the hot skin with his tongue.

Salty, he thought to himself, but not an uncomfortable taste at all. He quite liked it, knowing he now knew what Louis tasted like. He gave another experimental lick, his tongue lingering longer on the shaft. As his licks lasted longer and longer, it was then he wondered just how much of him he could take in his mouth, how far he could go. So after positioning himself at the tip, his lips fastened over it as he slowly sucked, he sank down while relaxing his throat, eyes growing wide as he realized just how full his mouth was going to be.

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” Louis cried, throwing his head back. His body now had a gleam of sweat over it, looking so lustrously golden in the candlelight.

Harry hummed in response, which only made Louis groan loader. Oh, he must have felt the vibrations in his throat. Fascinating.

So Harry took his time exploring Louis’ cock with his mouth, taking him in and out while savoring the taste. He figured it was something he would like to do often for him, given the way his husband looked like an absolute wreck as he pleasured him. Just as Harry’s eyes started to water after taking him whole for a third time, he felt Louis tugging his hair, which only made Harry moan at the pleasure of it and resulted in Louis moaning very loudly.

“No, love,” Louis groaned, wrapping his hand in his hair again. “Just stop for now.”

Harry frowned, letting his cock go with a pop before he sat up. “You didn’t like it?” Harry asked with a whisper, realizing his voice wasn’t fully regained yet. He could’ve sworn that Louis was enjoying it.

“Love,” Louis chuckled, “I liked it so much that if I enjoyed it even longer our wedding night would have ending right there.”

“You mean…”

“I would have spilled in your mouth and it would’ve taken quite a while until I was ready again.”

“Oh,” Harry mouthed, brows raised. Well, he did want to finish the night with Louis inside him.

“On your knees,” Louis ordered softly, pushing himself off the pillows.

“What for?” Harry asked.

“You’ll see,” Mr. Tomlinson smirked.

Harry did as he was told, looking down between his hands to the quilt over the bed once he crawled over, his pearls dangling from his neck. He felt Louis bunch up the fabric of his shift, eyes going wide as he realized he was naked under it. “But you’ll see…” he trailed off. _Me_. His backside was about to be presented in full glory to his husband.

“I plan to see every inch of your beautiful skin, love,” Louis said. “Keep your shift on for now, I’ll make do.”

Harry knew he wouldn’t be so lucky as to have his dream fulfilled on his wedding night, but suddenly he felt Louis give him delicate kisses along his bare spine until he reached his tail bone, adding various pecks to it while one hand massaged the flesh on his bum. It only made Harry groan, wondering if he was going to do what Harry always dreamed of.

And then, without warning, Louis pulled apart both of his cheeks, and licked against his most sensitive area, sending Harry into a moaning mess as he sank to his elbows, shivering.

“You have such a pretty hole, love,” Louis murmured before going back to lick it again. “So beautiful.”

Harry could only stammer out a few curses in response, lost in the pleasure just his tongue was bringing him. In all his fantasies, he never thought it would feel so good, but he thought it was also due to doing such an act with the man he loved. And when he felt Louis actually probe his hole with his tongue, that ruined him completely, moaning loudly as he came on the bedspread, bum up in the air while Louis licked him through his climax.

“Harry?” Louis asked softly.

The carrier simply felt boneless as Louis helped him to lay flat on the bed, too gone to even think of moving himself. “I didn’t- I didn’t think you would do that,” Harry panted, trying to catch his breath. “I dreamt having you do that. Never thought you would.”

“You dreamt about it?” Mr. Tomlinson asked in wonder, rubbing his back.

Harry nodded. “A few nights after we danced, I found myself so… riled up. I was hard thinking of you and needed to… pleasure myself somehow. So I laid myself out in my bed and touched myself as I usually did. I’ve always had this fantasy of just having my face in a pillow, while someone did… that behind me. Bringing me to my climax like that. So the man finally had a face, and it was you. I never came so hard from my hand that night as I thought about it. You behind me, doing those things…”

Louis swallowed, a hand started to pet Harry’s thigh. “And how did you know about such things, my love?”

“There’s a book I found in the library at Hartfield a few years ago,” Harry blushed, head still turned to one side as he laid on the pillow, “speaking of such things. It was very, very naughty and I knew I should not have found it to begin with, but my curiosity got the best of me. So I opened the book and there were such beautifully drawn pictures that…” Oh how could he speak such things, even if his husband just made love to his rear.

“That what?” Louis asked gently, motioning to turn Harry onto his back. The carrier complied, now realizing that all this talk was making his own cock grow hard again, which did not go unnoticed by his husband.

Harry gulped. “Carriers pleasuring two men at once, or bent over a desk in a study, or sucking their partner’s cocks on their knees, or with their skirts up while being taken in the stables over the hay. And…”

“And?” Louis asked again, this time placing himself between Harry’s feet, bringing a leg up to massage the ankles and kissing them softly. “So pretty. What else, love?”

“Other things,” Harry murmured, trying to remember all the things he wanted to do, “Like… being tied up with rope in bed. So hard I could barely move. Or blindfolded. With a silk scarf. Or both.”

“How very naughty of you, my darling,” Louis tsked, now massaging Harry’s thighs with his hands, carefully working the muscle. Harry’s shift was now bunched up just over his crotch area, covering his now hard cock. “And I must say, you really have a beautiful body, my love.”

Harry felt himself blushing from head to toe at the compliment. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“And what else then?” Louis asked with a smirk. “I know that must not be all you fantasize about in that naughty mind.”

Was it even possible to blush any harder? “Getting… wax poured on me.”

Louis’ eyes widened, yet not stopping his ministrations on Harry’s legs. “You want hot wax on you?”

Harry nodded. “Not tonight! But… I would like to know how it feels. The illustrations made it look… very enjoyable. The way the man would pour the candle onto the carrier… and some men enjoyed it too.”

“Oh my goodness,” Louis chuckled. “I had no idea I married a nymphomaniac until now.”

“What on earth is that?” Harry squealed.

“A word I learned in one of the science journals I read,” Louis smiled, “meaning a carrier who very much enjoys making love. Wanting to do it every hour of the day if they could.”

Based on just how delightful it felt to have Louis worshipping his body in this way, Harry did not have a hard time believing he would enjoy the act of making love for the rest of their years together. “Well, not all the hours. We have to take some breaks to eat.”

“Harry!” he cried, laughing so hard the crinkles were brought to his eyes. “Oh, my love. You’re going to ruin me for good.”

“I plan to,” Harry smiled shyly, the smile fading once he felt Louis’ hands no longer on him. He watched as the man left the bed, completely fine to be walking around his room in the nude, and coming back with a small brown bottle.

“What’s that?” Harry asked as he sat up, watching as he uncorked it.

“Oil,” Louis smirked, pouring some over his fingers, his hands turning ever so shiny in the firelight. “Peach flavored.”

“Oh,” Harry whispered. “Are these the oils you said…”

Louis nodded. “They’re going to get you ready to make love. If you feel ready, can I take off your shift?”

Harry met his eyes, knowing he could fully trust him. He nodded, smiling as Louis used his non oiled hand to help him take it off, with Harry making sure the pearls stayed put over his chest. Once Louis tossed the shift off the bed, Harry was suddenly very conscious he was now fully nude for the first time in front of a man. Nerves started to build up in the pit of his stomach, but once he saw the pure adoration in Louis’ eyes as he looked him over, he felt nothing but peace after.

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” he whimpered. “You’re so beautiful. So _mine_.”

“All yours, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry affirmed with a whisper, heart beating so loudly he was sure Louis could hear it. Dressed only with the pearls around his neck, he felt so bare and yet so safe in Louis’ gaze.

“Come on, love,” Louis whispered, gently pushing Harry back against the stack of pillows. He started kissing him again, their lips slotting together as Harry felt drunk on Louis’ scent being so near. Their lips smacked together with every kiss, feeling so wet and warm against one another. And once Louis’ oiled hand traveled down towards Harry’s hole, Harry gasped into the kiss, stiffing at being opened.

“Relax, love,” Louis whispered, his warm breath over his lips. “What other things would you like to try?”

“Try?” Harry breathed, eyes wide.

Mr. Tomlinson nodded. “From your book.”

“Oh,” Harry swallowed, moaning as he felt Louis’ finger probe him, enjoying the slick slide. “Um- there was one illustration where- oh! Where… the carrier fucked the gentleman. I thought that was interesting.”

“Oh really?” Louis smirked, leaning over to kiss the nipples on Harry’s chest. “And you think you’d want to do that with me?”

“Yes!” Harry cried, jolting as he felt a finger press against that one spot that he had trouble finding with his own fingers on so many occasions, seeing stars when Louis rubbed against it. That pleasure mixed with the light sucking he gave his nipples was just divine.

“I think we should try that eventually,” Louis murmured, raising his head to kiss over another moan that escaped Harry’s lips.

“Really?” Harry gasped.

Louis nodded, now inserting two fingers into him. “Yes, love,” he smiled, leaning down to kiss at the base of Harry’s throat. “I’ve never done that before and would love to with you.”

Harry could only make short moans in return, deep in his pleasure at feeling Louis’ fingers within him and hearing him say he’d be willing to try something just with him. But he wanted to feel so much fuller. “Can you- Can you get in me?” he begged.

“Of course, darling,” Louis rushed, slowly taking his fingers out. “And you’re going to ride me.”

“What?” Harry gasped, already panicking. “I don’t- I’ve never done that!”

Louis shook his head, grabbing more oil to bathe his own cock in. “You’ve ridden horses before haven’t you? It’s no different.”

Harry felt a flush on his face. Of course it was different! He had never been totally in the nude, cock out, and ready to hop on his lover’s cock before. He had never been married and ready to do such a thing. “But I-” he was quickly cut off with a kiss, Louis already positioned himself amongst the pillows, thighs waiting for Harry to sit on as he dragged him up.

“Just straddle by thighs, love,” Louis instructed, helping to ease Harry’s own thighs around him. “There. Now lean forward, good. You’re so beautiful, Harry. Now just ease down while I hold myself up for you- Oh!”

Harry’s eyes went wide as he felt the head of Louis’ cock against his rim, and then breeching it. “That feels-” he couldn’t continue. It was too much. After giving himself a few seconds to adjust, he sank further down, moans coming from the depths of his throat as he fully sheathed his husband’s cock within him.

“You’re so tight, Harry,” Louis groaned. “So soft, so tight, so warm. So beautiful, with your pearls and your beauty.”

“I-” was all he could moan back, and Louis started to kiss him once again. But this time their kisses were messy, almost feeling like the urgent ones they shared at Box Hill. Only this time Louis was finally in him, and it felt like nothing Harry could ever imagine. Their tongues matted, groaning into each other as Harry started to move a little, feeling Louis’ hands firmly gripping his hips as he did.

“That’s it, my love,” Louis panted, “move against me. I love you so much, Harry.”

So Harry moved his thighs and started to ride, eventually finding a rhythm that left them both unable to form coherent words. The room was just filled with their pants, groans, the slap of skin against skin as Harry’s pearls dangled between them in midair, moving to the tempo of their love. And when one angle had Louis rutted against that wonderful spot within him, Harry couldn’t control himself any longer.

“Louis!” Harry cried out, coming all over them. His vision blurred to stars dancing around Louis’ face as he fucked up into him, probably bruising Harry with how much hard he was holding him. But Harry didn’t mind at all, with him being fairly sure that rough handling was making him spurt every last drop onto Louis’ chest.

And Harry just couldn’t move anymore once he was spent, nearly collapsing on Louis. “Keep fucking me,” he whispered in his ear, knowing he hasn’t spent himself inside him. And before Harry realized what was happening, he was quickly put on his back against the bed, with his husband looming over him as he hitched up both of his legs, nearly folding him in half as he railed into him relentlessly. It only took a few more deep thrust for Louis to come with a shout, spilling inside him as he did while slurring out “I love you” into his ear. And for the first time, Harry could feel the warmth filling him, now feeling complete in their love making. So _this_ was how child making was done. He already looked forward to the next time they tried.

Once he finished spilling inside him, he gently pulled out, Harry slightly pouting at the loss. Louis collapsed next him on the bed, his chest heaving as he looked on.

“You said my name,” Louis panted, looking at him through tired eyes.

“I did,” Harry breathed. “Perhaps you have to fuck me more so I can say it.”

“Oh, love,” Mr. Tomlinson groaned with a grin. “You’re a menace.”

“And you still love,” Harry giggled.

“Come, let’s get under the covers. I can feel the chill in the air already and wouldn’t want you catching a cold.”

Harry nodded, slowly getting up and standing near the foot of the bed while Louis pulled back the bedspread. But he suddenly felt something dripping down his leg, mortified to feel the wetness.

“Um-”

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Louis asked.

“I-” he mumbled. “You’re spilling out of me!”

“I’m?” he frowned, glancing down at his legs before his eyes went comically wide. “Oh! Get in bed, then. I’ll bring you something.”

Still with a permanent blush over his skin, Harry crawled on the bed until he was over the cotton sheets, watching as Louis walked over to him. “This will help,” he said tenderly, putting a white rag in between his legs, cleaning up the mess between them. He the gently wiped his softened cock, and any remnants of cum on his chest and then his own. He threw the rag on the floor before crawling into bed next to him, bringing the covers over them. They lay there facing one another, and Harry was now sure in his assertion that no matter the time of day, clothed or bare, Mr. Tomlinson was the most handsome man in existence, from the way his hair fell against the pillow or how softly clear his blue eyes looked in the lowlight. Everything about him was just breathtaking.

“So how did you like it?” Louis asked, bringing a finger up to boop Harry’s nose, making him smile. “Everything you expected?”

“More than I expected,” Harry admitted with a shy smile. “I didn’t think it would feel that good, being with someone. Was… it good for you?” It still sat heavy in his mind whether their love making was up to par with what Louis had experienced before.

“Even better, my darling,” Louis smiled, placing a kiss on Harry’s fluttering eyelashes. “Love makes it all the better, like a piece of my soul got to feel our pleasure as well. I never want to do this with anyone but you for the rest of my life.”

Harry felt tears of joy spring up in his eyes, his own soul crying with the happiness he managed to find with Mr. Tomlinson. “I love you so much, Louis,” he whispered, slotting their lips together. His husband’s sweet breath simply intoxicated him, and he could never get enough.

“I love you more,” Louis smiled tenderly as he cupped his cheek, kissing him deeply as they both groaned. “As much as I’d love to be in you again, my love, I suggest we rest for the night. We’ve had a long day.”

“I agree,” Harry chuckled, shimming down a bit until he was laying on his husband’s chest, feeling his heartbeat against his cheek.

“I can’t wait for the rest of our lives together, Harry,” Mr. Tomlinson whispered into the dark, a hand caressing the curls on Harry’s head. “I just love you more than anything in this world.

“I cannot wait for that, Lou,” Harry whispered back, “I didn’t think I could ever find someone to love as much as I do for you.” And as his eyes closed, he sank into a deep, comforting sleep, lulled by the heartbeat he now owned. Harry was home, and with the man he always loved. His life couldn’t have been more perfect.

✺

If someone would have told Louis a year ago that he would be waking up to Harry’s face for the rest of his life, he would’ve called that person mad.

But here he was, staring at Harry’s sleeping face on his pillow. Their pillow. Now Donwell was Harry’s as well.

He knew it wasn’t entirely proper, but they did not leave his room for two days after their wedding night. Harry turned out to want to know everything that Louis knew in bed, and Louis shouldn’t have been that surprised to find his husband an eager learner. They hadn’t even been married for two days before Louis woke up to Harry sucking on his cock, grinning even with his mouth full of it. So they spent the first few days of their marriage exploring every part of each other’s bodies, and it was pure bliss.

So now, almost a week later, after the servants came in to open the drapes and let the sunshine in, Louis had the pleasure of watching the sunlight bathe his husband’s sleeping figure, his rumpled curls looking like honey against the white sheets.

“Is it morning?” Harry croaked out, face down on the bed.

They had gone to bed very late last night, after hosting a dinner party for the first time as a married couple. Everyone they held dear to them had been in attendance, especially Mr. Warwick, and the Paynes, who were so eager to see their brother settled so well at Donwell. The Rowlands attended as well, choosing to leave baby Harriet with her nurse for the evening, so Louis watched as Harry had stayed by Mrs. Rowland’s side conversing for most of the night. And Louis couldn’t help but burst with pride as he saw Harry welcome Charlotte with Mr. Heyer at her arm, much to the shock of Mrs. Winston, who was later heard whispering about how unnatural it was to allow a farmer into Donwell. Luckily Harry had heard her remarks, and Louis watched with amusement as Harry whispered something to her to make her eyes almost leave her head. He later found out Harry had threatened to reveal to the entire party that Mr. Winston had proposed to him first, and his marriage to her only happened because of Harry’s refusal. Needless to say, she was much more cordial to Mr. Heyer for the rest of the evening.

And Louis could tell that their first dinner party at Donwell was a success, judging from how happy their guests were and how naturally Harry played the role as host. It felt as if Harry had always belonged as the carrier of Donwell Abbey, easing into a role so naturally.

“Yes,” Louis chuckled, brushing a stray curl off his face. “We need to get up.”

Harry moaned, burying his face more into the pillow. “Do we have to?” he murmured.

“Yes,” Louis laughed, going under the sheets to feel his bare, warm skin, stopping when he found his bum to pinch. “I had Cook make an extra strawberry shortcake so we could enjoy it for breakfast today.”

“Oh?” Harry perked up. “I knew there was a reason I married you, Lou.”

 _Lou_. Without either of them realizing, Harry started calling him by a nickname that filled him with a joy that he couldn’t explain, and yet it felt so right. It was really the perfect start to their marriage. “Yes,” Louis chuckled. “Endless access to my strawberry fields.”

“And that wonderful bum you have,” Harry mumbled with a smile, Louis watching as a dimple appeared on the cheek facing him.

“We have responsibilities,” Louis sighed, glancing at the sunny windows, “especially since you now that you get to run Donwell. And I told Mr. Heyer I would call on him to see how his harvest is going.”

“Mmmm,” Harry hummed, turning his face towards Louis, one eye barely open as he wiggled his bum into Louis’ palm. “I think my main duty at Donwell is to carry your children, so if you think about it, you should be fucking me in this bed every day until my stomach is round with our child. Don’t you want that, my love?”

Louis felt his cock fatten up as the words tumbled out of his husband’s mouth, stifling a groan. His hand was still resting on the other man’s bare bum, trying not to squeeze him and encourage his naughty behavior. “You don’t think we’ve been trying to get a baby in you for the past week?” he swallowed. God, he didn’t want the servants thinking yet again that the Tomlinsons were up late because of… that. But then Harry snaked his hand down under the covers until he felt the hardness between Louis’ legs, already standing to attention.

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as trying too much, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry smirked lazily, giving him a few tugs before retreating his hand and going under the pillow to retrieve an almost finished bottle of oil. It was the _third_ one they had used since their wedding night, and Louis really thought he should start ordering them in bulk if they were going to enthusiastically use them so much. So all Louis could do was watch with awe as Harry turned himself over, drizzling some of the oil over his fingers before throwing the covers off, opening his legs as his hand traveled down to his hole. “I’ll get up if you tell me where you’re taking me for our honeymoon,” he drawled out.

Louis feigned surprise as he crawled over him, knowing very well he was never going to reveal that. Once he told Harry they were going on a honeymoon next week but his husband wasn’t allowed to know the surprise destination, Harry made it his goal to try to weasel it out of him at every moment for the past few days. “Never,” Louis whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

And well, Louis really couldn’t be blamed for not leaving their bed until noon. Not when he was married to such a lovely carrier. Not when his entire world was named Harry.

✺

Married life was everything Harry expected it to be, and maybe even more if he was being honest with himself. Going to bed with Louis every night and getting to wake up in his arms brought him more happiness than he ever thought he could possess. It was as if he always belonged there, and he finally found himself home.

And Harry found himself loving the staff just as he did at Hartfield, learning all their names and getting to know them through Mrs. Jennings.

Mr. Warwick and Zayn came to visit them, even though Harry and Louis would go almost every evening to visit them as well, and Grandpapa would ask almost every evening if Harry was truly happy living at Donwell, and Harry always answered with a wide grin as he nodded. Mr. Tomlinson said it would probably be a year until Mr. Warwick stopped asking him that, both of them giggling in bed as they talked about it one evening.

Ad having Zayn close by was definitely something to celebrate, since now Harry could see his brother whenever he wanted and enjoy the company of his nieces and nephews. And even if Louis didn’t admit it, Harry knew he loved having Mr. Payne around as well, having someone else to accompany him to fish or go to attend the gentleman’s parties.

The Rowlands visited them as well, along with baby Harriet. Mrs. Rowland would often ask how their married life was so far – even if it hadn’t been that long – and Harry would confide in her just how well it was going. “I expect to see you with child soon then,” Sarah answered with a knowing smile, which only made Harry blush. He desperately hoped they would be able to start their own family soon, just as Louis had wished before they were even married.

Now the day had finally come for their honeymoon trip, where Louis said they would stay for two weeks before coming back home. Harry knew the destination would not be a disappointment, but he still wanted to know where he was going. So he hoped waking Louis up by sucking his cock would be enough to get him to spill the secret, but he only ended up spilling his seed in his mouth, and Harry really wasn’t disappointed with that result, especially after Louis ate him out right after.

Either way, Harry was still determined to find out, even if they were at the breakfast table, already dressed and ready to go on the road within the next hour. He was dressed in a beautiful red velvet jacket that Louis had gifted him as a wedding present, complete with a beautiful white satin shirt to go beneath it. It left enough of his neckline to show off another wedding present from Louis: a pearl necklace that Harry could wear daily, complete with a sunflower charm in the center of it to match the sunflower hair pin he had given him all those years ago.

“So will you tell me now where we are going?” Harry asked before biting into the roll covered in jam. He felt so refreshed when he woke up, and most eager to get on their journey.

“No, my love,” Louis smirked, cutting his ham. He was dressed in a wool beige riding coat, his hair styled in the usual curls, his cravat tied just so around his neck. “You shall know when we get there. I would hate to spoil the surprise beforehand.”

“If you wish,” Harry sighed with a pout, sipping his tea.

Thankfully it did not take long for them to get in their carriage, since the servants already loaded their trunks and the household was already prepared for their departure. They already bid the Hartfield residents goodbye the night before, when they had a small evening party as a take leave. So Harry was ready to go, waiting by the door as Louis descended from the stairwell.

“Ready, my Harry?” he smiled, asking for his hand to lead him out.

“Yes, my love,” Harry nodded, taking his hand to go to the carriage.

After a few hours on the road and one short nap later, Harry woke up with a yawn, having slept on Louis’ shoulder for most of the time now.

“Where are we?” Harry murmured. He looked out the window to see rolling hills in the distance, but it still looked like they were in Surrey county.

“Almost there, love,” Louis smiled. “Go back to sleep if you like.”

Knowing he still wasn’t going to know where he was going, Harry grumbled to agree, putting his head back on Louis’ shoulder and covering himself with one of the blankets Mrs. Jennings left for them in the carriage.

The next time Harry woke up, it was later in the day, probably afternoon judging by how the sun was shining. The scenery looked quite different though, with none of the trees that Harry was used to seeing in his life, and peculiar plants lining the fields. They must be very far from Highbury then.

“Are you ever going to tell me where we are headed, dear husband?” Harry sighed, leaning over to rest his head against Louis’ shoulder.

“No,” Louis laughed.

“You do like to tease me,” Harry mumbled, cuddling closer to him. “So where are we going?”

“How about I show you,” Louis grinned, pointing out the window. “Look there.”

Harry turned to see, jaw dropping as the horizon came into view. Suddenly there were no more green fields in view, but dusty yellow ones, with a seagull flying above them. And there, there in the distance lay a blue landscape that moved as far as the eye could see, until it was united with the sky. “The seaside?” he gasped. “You-you took me to the seaside?”

“I know you have always wanted to see it, love,” Louis smiled. “I thought there could be no other place I could take you for our honeymoon. Welcome to Cromer.”

Harry couldn’t help it as tears formed on his eyes, barely able to contain his happiness.

“Love?” Mr. Tomlinson asked, concern in his voice.

“I love you so much, Lou,” Harry cried happily, kissing his cheek with great force. “Thank you. I don’t think anyone could have loved me as well as you do.”

Louis visibly relaxed. “You deserve this,” he whispered, leaning over to kiss him, “and so much more, my love.”

The carriage traveled a little while longer until Mr. Tomlinson told them to stop, with Harry nearly jumping out of the carriage once they did.

“Come on,” Harry yelled as he grabbed Louis’ hand and they both started walking up the hill until they reached the cliff that overlooked the sea. Now Harry could see its beauty up close, marveling at the way the waves moved with the wind, how the birds glided over the surface to catch their meal, the pure beauty of the earth before him. And he got to witness it all with the beauty he was now married to.

“Long ago,” Harry said aloud, looking out at the sea in wonder. “I said I would never marry. And I have never been happier to be wrong in my life.”

“Is that so?” Louis grinned.

“Yes,” Harry kissed him, squeezing his hand. “because you’re the only one worth marrying, in my opinion. You’ve always been my home.”

“And so have you, my love,” Mr. Tomlinson answered with a tender voice. “My one and only.”

After a few more kisses, they pulled back with shy smiles so they could continue to look at the beautiful view. Much like how the illustrations of that naughty book had compared to actually being in his husband’s bed, the pictures he used to see in books about the sea were nothing to the actual marvelousness before him. And it was all thanks to Mr. Tomlinson.

“Thank you,” Harry spoke aloud.

“For this?” Louis asked, his thumb gently caressing Harry’s.

“For everything.”

And with that, Harry knew once in for all. Their union was nothing less than perfect happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, I really hope you enjoyed the story. Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Fic post can be found [here](https://softfonds.tumblr.com/post/618640488133705728/come-my-love-again-harry-styles-is-handsome).


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